


those tears on your cheeks (exposing trauma and neglect)

by Morning_Glory_Skyes



Series: to deafen the world with a wail (i will grieve for you) [3]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Greenpath is Lief, Grimm no that is NOT how you flirt, Lost Kin is Brook, Lurien has a bad day, M/M, Slow Burn, all romances are background cause we all know we here for the story, all vessels use they/them, ambrosia directly confronts his past it doesnt go well, and we all know he deserves it lmao, at least not with ambrosia or lurien, at this point i should tag, bless whoever wrote enough of it to make it a common tag, but xero still loves markoth, camellia being tired of grimm lurien and ambrosias shit, did i say start i mean its filled to the brim, ghost going from :) to :( to :0 in rapid succession, hallow has inherited their mothers talent for merciless speak, here we go baebee, hornet and flame (grimmchild) is a terrible combo and you should fear it, i cant beelieve that herrah/vespa is already a tagged ship, i swear to god if i catch yall gendering them, i was wrong theyre exs, im gonna throw some fucking hands, interlude: freya indirectly tells her father to go fuck himself, is xero annoying markoth or flirting? who knows, it goes about as well as you'd expect, it rapidly improves tho, it took me 50 chapters to get them to hold hands, lurien deals with Soul Sanctum, nailsmith isnt religious but he recognizes a god when he sees one, nosk den triplet set 1 are charm nail and shield, one (1) butterfly vs whatever the soul master is, somewhere in the gardens camellia is watching this and crying laughter, soul master gets Fucked Up, there are fourteen vessels and all have names send help, this fic is starting to be filled with pining, triplet set 2 is listen silence and echo, twin set 2 is ember and spark, unreliable narrator for chapter 18, ur doing god's work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 76
Words: 97,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morning_Glory_Skyes/pseuds/Morning_Glory_Skyes
Summary: There is a ghost in Hallownest. This ghost lies within the Abyss after swallowing Her light.They are not alone.
Relationships: Dryya/White Lady (Hollow Knight), God Tamer/Pale Lurker, Grimm/Lurien the Watcher (Hollow Knight), Grimm/Lurien the Watcher/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Grimm/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Herrah the Beast/Hive Queen Vespa (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Markoth/Xero, The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Series: to deafen the world with a wail (i will grieve for you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985645
Comments: 4290
Kudos: 1045





	1. Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maiden22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden22/gifts).



There is a ghost in the Abyss,

There is a ghost of a god in the Abyss.

This ghost is riding the high of victory, still relishing in Her screams as they tore Her from Her throne. They'd sunk their claws into Her ruff and torn it to shreds, laughing as they consume Her entirely. The way She'd thrashed and fought against them, only to fall in the end is well worth the trouble of getting up to Her.

Void swells up and consumes Godhome, spilling out over the clouds until they're no longer orange but a deep shade of gray. They plunge down through it and find themself in front of the Godseeker. She's shaking in her throne, staring up at him in sheer horror. Ghost can see how wide her eyes are behind her mask

They lean in and smile, jaw splitting into thousands of thousands of teeth. She inhales sharply, fear and horror keeping her still. Ghost pulls back slightly. They remember full well how she had died in the past--future?--and they have no intention of repeating it.

No matter the grudge they had, she didn't deserve such a painful death.

Ghost sidles backwards and plunges down further through the clouds, their massive form slithering around the building as they drop down lower. The hall leading to the entrances of the first three pantheons is far too small for their form, forcing Ghost to crawl over the top of the building.

Below them, the hivemind of the Godseekers trembles in fear.

They don't care. Their goal is to figure out how to leave the dream without having to kill her to escape.

There.

Across the gaps filled with columns is the dream portal where they originally entered. Ghost makes a beeline towards it, all four hands crashing down onto the pillars as they cross the gap. They can practically taste freedom.

Their form is far, far too large to comfortably curl up within the circle, in fact they can barely fit a single hand onto it, but Ghost manages as best they can. The light no longer burns them now that they hold the Dream Realm and Ghost presses their hand against the circle.

It glows white.

Void surrounds them when the white finally fades and they blink slowly, peering up at the surface. Ghost surfaces slowly and peers around the large room.

The Junk Pit.

They blink again, ignoring the rather odd sensation of four pairs of eyes closing one right after the other, and pull themself up the edge of the pile. Godseeker lies collapsed across the floor, her body half-draped over an opened chest. Ghost peers down at her and carefully pokes her side with a single finger.

She twitches, flinching away from them, and Ghost can't stop the sigh of relief. Alive. They peer back down into the void surrounding them, the way it has completely consumed the water in the Junk Pit, and stretch their awareness.

From here, they can feel the Abyss.

The void must connect, even at this distance. An interesting piece of information to be used at a later date.

Ghost hums slowly, gives Godseeker's collapsed from one last look, and dives beneath the surface. The liquid is comforting and they glide through it with ease, their large form fitting through even the smallest cracks. As long as it is smothered in void, Ghost can make it there.

They surface within the Abyssal Sea, rising from the frothing liquid and stretching slowly. To their left is a half crushed lighthouse, broken and ruined. Ghost grabs onto the crumbling structure with one hand and peers into it, frowning. Despite the broken floor and ruined ceiling there isn't a corpse inside of the lighthouse.

While they don't know when it was shattered, they do know that no one was caught in the crossfire.

Good.

Another low hum escapes them and they drag themself through the void, then hesitate at the edge of the chitin graveyard. Ghost bows their head, leaning down to press their maskless face against them. A low, soft keen of grief escapes their throat, and Ghost lets themself grieve for their lost siblings.

What a cruel fate, to be abandoned by their sire to their death.

Ghost hates him.

They just don't want to spend the effort or energy to hunt him down and hurt him.

He isn't worth it.

A hand brushes against their face and Ghost tilts their head to see, blinking at the sight of one of their siblings. A small shade, so very tiny, with horns that look like woven branches. They tug on Ghost's horns and then float backwards.

Curious, Ghost follows.

The chitin crunches uncomfortably beneath them and they hide their winces, halting in the center of the Abyss. Their sibling vanishes into another area and Ghost settles down as best they can, waiting.

For what, they don't know.

They wait there for a while, just idly messing with the void and figuring out how to recompress themself back into a smaller being. Ghost hadn't even realized that their command over the Dream was gone until now. They used its power so rarely.

Ghost huffs a breath and compresses dream essence in their hands, pinning it until the white light gleams brilliantly into a shiny ball. They play with it for a long moment, just tossing the ball from hand to hand until their control breaks and the essence dissipates into nothing.

A sibling floats closer and Ghost turns their head towards them, pausing at the sight.

Beside them, standing instead of floating, is another vessel. Two small horns extend from the side of their mask, the one on the bottom just slightly smaller than the top, and white chitin perfectly free of cracks. Ghost would recognize them anywhere.

They had taken their mothwing cloak, after all. 

Behind them are several other vessels, just as tiny as Ghost themself used to be all that time ago.


	2. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Abyss.

There is a ghost half-collapsed on the floor of the Abyss.

This ghost is in tears.

They can't stop them, heavy void spilling from all eight eyes and down onto the broken chitin below them, staining the white an even deeper black. Ghost hiccups, reaching out with all four hands, dropping their upper body until they can press all six vessels against their chest.

Alive, alive, _alive_.

Their siblings are alive.

Ghost makes a keening noise, the call vibrating through them deep into the void. Their siblings resonate with the sound, tilting their masks to the side. They're far too upset to be able to shield themself, to shield their mind, and their grief is unmistakable.

One of the vessels, the one from Greenpath, turns and makes a high-pitched chittering call. There's an answering response and Ghost watches as several more vessels drop out of the darkness. Within a moment, they find their face almost buried beneath fourteen siblings, with even a couple shades dropping onto the pile.

They keen, low and deep, and rest their maskless face against the floor of the Abyss, closing their eyes slowly. All eight glowing lights thin into pinpricks and then vanish completely as Ghost basks in their sibling's hug. They croon softly, so shaken by the appearance of new vessels that their guard is completely down.

The void is projecting their emotions clearly, grief and lingering anger and the vicious satisfaction that comes from murdering the light. Their siblings press in closer, crooning a song of peace and serenity. Ghost rumbles low in return, nuzzling as best they can. They're enormous compared to their siblings, easily taking up a massive amount of space on the floor of the Abyss.

_**Sibling,**_ Greenpath whispers, their voice echoing through the void. The others perk up at it and Ghost answers the call with a purr.

_Sibling,_ Ghost returns, letting their eyes open and light up the surrounding area. They wonder what they look like, in this truest form of theirs. God of shade and shadow, darkness and night, dream and void. _**We are Ghost.**_ A spirit in a ruined kingdom, the crumbling remains of something long since left behind.

Greenpath tilts their head to the side and nods sagely, like they have learned something important. Ghost supposes that they have, in a way. _**My name is Lief,**_ they return. Ghost gets a faint impression of greenery and leaves, the color being endlessly fascinating.

Their siblings clamor in a little closer and Ghost huffs a laugh when they realize they're being climbed on. Ghost twists their head carefully to look at the vessel clinging to their arm and almost gasps at the sight.

It's Lost Kin, though they suppose that name is no longer accurate. Ghost tilts their head and leans in to press their face against mask. **_Does sibling have a name?_** they ask.

Lost Kin nods and projects the sound of bubbling water. Of rivers and streams and pools filled to the brim with crystal clear rain.

Ghost blinks. **_Brook?_**

Brook nods again, this time rapidly. **_Yes, yes, yes._** The force of their nodding makes them lose their grip and Brook tumbles off of Ghost's back. They twist an arm around, massive palm providing a safe landing position. Lief makes a sound like a sigh and Brook bursts into chirping laughter.

They bend down a little to better let their siblings off of their back and turn their gaze towards the top of the Abyss. There, at the top, lies the door to freedom, locked and sealed tightly with the King's Seal. Ghost finds themself growling dangerously, gaze narrowing. They hate that door with a burning passion.

Given half a chance, and if they could figure out how to climb up to the top in this form, they'd rip it open in a heartbeat. They turn their gaze back down to their siblings, who have long since climbed off of them and are now watching. _Do you want out?_ they ask, projecting the sensations of freedom and fresh air on chitin. Of exploration and meeting new people.

Of new friends and old stories.

**_Is it safe?_** Lief asks, tilting their head to the side. Ghost pauses at that, frowning slowly. They parse through their memories and barely hide a wince. No, it is most definitely not safe. While they are more than capable of taking care of themself, their siblings don't actually have any weapons.

Ghost does, however, have plenty of geo and even a few pieces of pale ore. They could hunt down the Nailsmith and ask for him to make them a few weapons. Assuming he's still in his hut near the City of Tears.

They frown and move one of their hands to lean their face on, idly closing their eyes so they can check their inventory. A quick sweep tells them at the large chunk of their charms are gone but a few still remain. Sharp Shadow, Dreamnail and the Dreamshield, Unbreakable Strength, and--

Grimmchild.

Oh _no_.

Ghost quickly materializes the charm, letting it fall onto their massive palm so they can stare at it in horror. If this is the past, well before the kingdom crumbled into its ashes, then why do they still have this? Does it work? Will it still call Grimmchild to their side like it used to all that time ago?

Will they have to fight Grimm and his Nightmare Form again?

(They certainly hope not. Ghost would rather not get their face caved in a bunch of times again.)

Unfortunately, for them to find out, Ghost is going to just have to suck it up and equip the charm. But more importantly, to wear the charm, they're going to have to shrink in size. They lean over their siblings and search through the remains of the ruined chitin, letting their gaze shift until they spot a suitable mask. Unbroken, and whole enough that they can break it down and remake their proper shell.

Confirmation from Lief says they can use it and Ghost lets themself collapse, compressing their void until they can pour their entire being into the chitin. It shapes up around them, their Godly form vanishing. Ghost gets up from the floor and blinks all eight of their eyes. They stretch their four arms slowly and turn around in a circle, a cloak made from void spilling over their form.

It's their adult form, and while Ghost isn't particularly fond of it making things harder to sneak, it will do in a pinch.

For now, they have better things to do. Like deal with the Grimmchild charm. 

(Gods, but Ghost can't help but hope it works. They pin it on.)


	3. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Abyss.

There is a ghost of a Grimmchild in the Abyss.

They're shaking, they realize, hands quivering in both anticipation and fear. He appears in a burst of flames the second the charm is pinned to their cloak and Ghost takes a step back. Red flares to life within Grimmchild's gaze, glowing as brilliant as his carapace, and he blinks, slowly.

Ghost takes the chance to quickly look him over, realizing that there are just a few differences. Not enough to be alarmed about, but some.

His wings are huge and no longer simple strands, but large enough to flap in the air. Eyes that flicker and flow with the flame of the Nightmare Heart, and a red carapace that glows. There's a fire in his chest and it burns brilliantly.

But two ascensions have changed him. No one goes through the void twice without having some effect. Void paints the white parts of his chitin black like tears, and Ghost knows that Grimmchild can easily travel through the shadows with them now. His tail has shifted to almost wyrm-like, with little legs scattered along the sides.

Grimm isn't going to be pleased about this, Ghost thinks, and then promptly pauses. This is the past, and stars only know when it is. Is Grimm even in Hallownest currently? Does he even know this kingdom exists? He must, right?

Grimmchild pulls Ghost out of their thoughts by chirping loudly, and promptly slams into them. He curls up, draping himself across their back and up over their horns, using their head as a resting spot. Clearly, he still knows and recognizes them, even in their adult form. That's one relief.

Ghost huffs a laugh at their siblings peering curiously from all corners of the Abyss. They'd vanished like smoke when Grimmchild had puffed in with his fire. But Ghost not reacting, combined with the obviously friendly interaction, has soothed some of their fears. Ghost reaches a hand up and absently pats Grimmchild on the head.

He purrs and belches up a gout of fire. It lights the Abyss for a moment, casting a glow across thousands of ruined masks, spikes, and carapaces, then plunges them all back into darkness. Ghost laughs. He clearly hasn't changed a bit in personality. 

Lief approaches them first, clearly hesitant, and Ghost turns to face them, kneeling so they can see their sibling a little better. It's odd, being so tall among a group of tiny vessels, but they suppose that's nothing a healthy amount of soul can't fix. **_Sibling?_** Lief asks. **_Who is that?_**

**_This is Grimmchild,_** Ghost tells them. The name comes with memories of fire and flame, dreams and nightmares. **_His father is Grimm, the God of Nightmares and Flame._** They think fondly of their dance with Grimm, the way the music swelled and crashed. He had taught them a lot, about power and magic and life in a kingdom long dead. They'd consider him a father if their actual father hadn't been so goddamn terrible.

More of their siblings approach and Ghost carefully removes Grimmchild from his resting place between their horns, sitting down so their siblings can better inspect him. They catch glimpses of words in their sibling's minds, most of them about how pretty Grimmchild's red color is, and laugh. He preens at the attention, purring loudly, and Ghost gently settles him back into place.

They think back to their conversation with Lief, before they had gotten distracted by the charm and Grimmchild. **_You asked if it was safe?_**

Lief nods, tilting their head to the side. **_Is it?_** they repeat. ** _We would like to see it. The way you've described it sounds wonderful._**

Ghost shakes their head slowly. **_No,_** they whisper. **_It is not safe._** The words come with images of Vengeflies and Aspids, Goams and Shrumals, Sporgs and Gulkas. The sensation of pain, of being hit and forced to retreat and heal. It is not safe. Not without a nail to defend. Ghost summons both of their nails, the large one that Hallow taught them to summon and the Pure Nail made by the Nailsmith.

The Pure Nail is stabbed into the ground, Ghost wincing at the sound of cracking chitin beneath their feet. It's just the right size for their siblings to use. **_One can take this and come with us. We will go to the Nailsmith in the City of Tears and ask for more._**

**_I want to go,_** Brook whispers. The void carries images of golden honey and buzzing. The Hive, Ghost realizes, and then wonders how Brook ever heard about the area. **_Sibling told us when a Guardian killed them. Said honey was wonderful. Want to go, want to taste, want to see myself._**

Ghost nods. Can't really argue with that logic.

Lief makes a chittering sound, low and in the back of their throat, and shakes their head slowly. They take a step back and haul the Pure Nail out of the ground, passing the hilt to Brook like they're already regretting it.

Brook takes it slowly and it takes Ghost half a second to realize their sibling has no idea how to wield it. That is a problem, and not one that can be easily dealt with. They stride forward and take the Nail from them, carefully shifting it out of the way to one of their upper hands. **_We'd like a sibling who knows how to not stab themself,_** they think dryly.

**_Hey!_** Brook instantly objects, projecting alarm and insult down the link. Ghost returns fire with Primal Aspids and their absolute bullshit, watching with deep set amusement as Brook wilts immediately.

**_I know how to fight a little. At least, I think I can manage better than Brook._** Ghost turns to the side, watching as a slightly smaller vessel steps forward. Their horns are curved sharply, thick at the bottom and curving up and out at the edges. They shyly take the nail from them and take a few steps back. The swing is a little messy, but they've got a firm grip on the nail and won't be letting it stab Ghost anytime soon.

Good enough, Ghost thinks, and tries to not wonder why Lief is now full on cackling. 

Now they just have to get out of the Abyss. Preferably without alarming anyone.


	4. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Abyss. 

There is a ghost, and many others, in the Abyss. 

Ghost tilts their head and stares up into the inky blackness above them. They could climb up to the top and shatter the door that blocks their path, true, but their siblings are defenseless. While the door may be a prison cell, at the same time it protects those who live within. The siblings cannot leave, but no one can enter, either. They are safe.

No, Ghost will not open that door until they are certain their siblings can defend themselves. 

They will not make the same mistake their father did. Brook dying in the Ancient Basin and Lief passing in Greenpath will not happen. They will not allow it. 

**_Come, come, come,_** they whisper, turning to head back into the room with the ruined lighthouse. **_We know a path._ **Through the void they pass on the faint memories of the Royal Waterways, wading through the deep liquids to end up in the City of Tears. Of where the entrance comes out, and its location within the city. They will have to be careful to not be seen coming out of it, but it can be done.

Their sibling nods quickly, adjusting their hold on the nail so they can keep up with Ghost's larger stride. **_Yes, yes, yes,_** the little one agrees. Ghost catches glimpses of stealth and sneaking and can barely contain a laugh. Their current size will make sneaking quite difficult.

Ghost projects that thought and feels their sibling's surprise. **_We will walk in the light like anyone else,_** they return, deeply amused. They've been in the City of Tears already and know what they are looking for. As long as there is no trouble, things will be fine.

**_Agreed,_** sibling whispers, and Ghost turns to face them when they reach the edge of the void sea. 

**_We need a name to call you,_** they decide, and sibling goes still. Ghost watches as their sibling frantically looks around, gaze finally stilling on the Grimmchild charm they still have pinned to their cloak.

(Grimmchild sleeps draped across the top of their mask, nestled between their horns.)

**_Uh,_** sibling says, like they're already regretting this but are determined to power through anyway, **_our name is Charm!_**

Ghost stares at them as they twitch, nervously fidgeting with their cloak. **_Charm,_** they repeat, flatly, and then can barely smother a laugh. Sibling seems to regret that choice but it's too late. As the eldest sibling, Ghost is obligated to hold this over their head forever. **_This way, Charm._ **

Charm winces, absolutely resigned to the terrible choice they have made, but then perks up, gleefully mischievous. **_We have two siblings!_** they exclaim, and Ghost gets the faintest impression of a set of three hatched from a single egg. **_We name siblings Nail and Shield to match._**

Ah. So that's how it's going to be. Ghost snorts, loudly, and shakes their head fondly. Of course this one would have a mischievous streak the size of a Wyrm. **_Sure,_** they agree. **_But you have to tell them._**

Clearly Charm doesn't care for this deal, but the idea of naming their siblings in a horrible way is enough for them to agree. They snicker, the sound a mixture of chirps and purrs, and follow Ghost's gaze out over the void sea. **_How do we leave?_** they ask, and Ghost grins beneath the mask. 

**_Like this,_** they say, and snatch Charm up in their right hands. They bundle them close, pressing them against their side beneath the cloak, and leap into the void. This power is theirs, they are the Lord of Shades, and the void answers their call all too eagerly. 

It sweeps them along, through the smallest of gaps, and Ghost keeps the grip they have on Charm firm. Their sibling wouldn't be able to contain themself, to keep themself separate from the overwhelming hivemind that is the Void. But they can, and it comes far too easily. The void has always answered their call, and getting the Voidheart only made it more obvious. 

They're spit out at the edge of the Junkpit and Ghost steps out onto the land there with a lethal ease. Charm leaps down out of their cloak and looks around, curiosity evident in the way they poke at everything within range. Ghost reaches down and takes the nail their sibling is clutching, moving it to its proper position on their back. They glance up at them and Ghost beams, summoning their own massive nail to slide into place.

Going into the City of Tears armed might be a bit odd, but they have a younger sibling to look after. If any of the Soul Twisters so much as look at Charm wrong, Ghost is going to shred them. They don't trust any of those assholes to not harm Charm. Not after the bullshit they'd witnessed, the way the Soul Master had gleefully ripped those poor bugs apart just to get at the soul within them. 

Ghost turns their gaze to the side and blinks. Godseeker is awake this time, no longer passed out on the ground the way she had been when they'd left her. Her gaze slowly sweeps across Charm and then lands on them. They can see her eyes grow huge behind her mask, and she practically flings herself to the ground.

Is she prostrating herself out of fear, horror, or actual reverence? Ghost can't tell, but they know they don't particularly care much for it. " _Stop that,_ " they sign, annoyed, and find themself scowling when she doesn't so much as move. Of course she wouldn't be able to see their hand signs with her face pressed against the floor. 

**_What is she doing?_** Charm asks, the words coming with the sensation of confusion and a lack of understanding. 

Ghost sighs and reaches up a hand to rub at their mask. **_Nothing important,_** they return and then carefully reach out to nudge against Godseeker's mind.

She _flinches_. They pull back a little bit and carefully project their annoyance at the situation and the desire for her to stop bowing to them. They may be a God, more than just a God, a God of Gods, Lord of Shades and God of Dreams, but they don't want to be treated like that.

It reminds them uncomfortably of their father and the way the kingdom absolutely worshiped him.


	5. Ghost

There is more than just a ghost in the Royal Waterways.

There are two of them, one large and the other small.

The large one is really starting to wish they'd thought a little more about this plan before executing it. Reaching the City of Tears through the waterways is definitely one way to get there, and the safest for them, but Ghost had not realized how much their size would hinder them.

A distressingly large amount of the tunnels are simply too small for their adult form to go through without crawling. Charm is fine, of course, as they're still small enough to walk through, but Ghost has already run face first into suddenly low ceilings far too many times.

One such tunnel mocks them and Ghost glares at it with all the heat they can muster. They need to get through it to reach the closest entrance, the one they remember being close to where Lemm's shop used to be. Unfortunately, there's no guarantee that they'll be able to use that path, especially given that the City of Tears is no longer dead and barren.

Ghost is not looking forward to the eventual crawl through the deepest parts of the waterways, but needs must they suppose. They're really hoping this first option is open, if only because it's actually fairly close to where the Nailsmith's shop is. Or, at least, they hope his shop is currently open at this time. If not, they really don't know how they're going to go about arming their siblings.

A problem for a later time, they suppose.

Charm makes a chirping noise, an inquiry and curiosity all at once, and Ghost sighs as heavily as they can. They already know without checking that the tunnel is simply too long for them to dash through and breaking their shell to ride in Charm's shadow is straight up out of the question. This chitin came from a long dead sibling, whose shade is no longer separate from the void, and Ghost will not wreck it.

They refuse to.

Which leaves them in this predicament.

A tug at their cloak and Ghost glances down at Charm. The smaller of the two waves a hand and slowly forms signs, pausing to make sure they get them correct. Ghost had passed on their knowledge of the sign language through the void, but it will still take a lot of practice before their sibling is confident in the motions. " _Ghost going to crawl again?_ "

Ghost doesn't want to get their face anywhere near the murky water currently flowing through the tunnel but they don't have a choice. At least their cloak is made up of void and easily replaceable when they finally leave this area.

(They miss the cloak that their sister had made for them, but it had been torn shortly before they'd wound up in the past. She'd taken it to fix and Ghost had never gotten it back. They miss it greatly. The color, the warmth, the fact it was the first gift they'd ever gotten.)

From their side, Charm makes a chirping noise and starts down the tunnel ahead of them. Apparently they're very tired of Ghost being indecisive which, fair. Ghost huffs a breath and drops down to their knees, scowling at the water that splashes up against their mask. They crawl forward, keeping their head down so their horns don't scrape the ceiling. Ghost follows their sibling on their knees, only getting up when it finally opens enough for them to stand comfortably.

The entrance is above them and Ghost leaps upwards with a push of their wings, buzzing just high enough to see out without anyone spotting them.

Three guards stand nearby, talking as they lean against the wall. There's absolutely no way Ghost can take them on all at once, or even distract them to get by. Not with Charm with them. There is no way Ghost is going to risk their sibling's safety like that.

Damn. Double damn. Triple damn.

They're just going to have to go around. Which means crawling through more tunnels until they reach another entrance that's further into the city. And here Ghost was hoping that it'd be a quick in and out, only sticking around long enough to put in the order for thirteen more nails in a similar style to their original one.

With a side helping of hoping the Nailsmith won't recognize his own work.

Ghost has no idea how they're going to explain that if he does. After all, it's not like they can just tell him that they're a time traveling God of Gods, right?

Both their father and Lurien, and Gods only know how many others, have foresight. Their father can even use his on a daily basis, though only for a few seconds at a time. Useful in battle, but not much else.

Maybe they can tell the Nailsmith the truth.

(Maybe they can direct him to Sheo a couple hundred years early. Before he gets all depressed and suicidal in the fall of the kingdom. Ghost does not want to hear someone beg for death ever again.)

They duck back down with a grumble and come face to face with Charm, perched on a higher ledge. " _No luck,_ " Ghost signs, pointing back towards a tunnel that drops to a lower level. " _Guarded._ "

Charm makes a noise but nods and leaps down into the water below. They splash it cheerfully, jumping up and landing down in the deeper parts of the puddle with all the intentions of sending the water flying. Ghost carefully makes sure they aren't in range and laughs. They saunter towards the drop to the lower level and peer down into the darkness, frowning.

At least they remember that the room directly below is tall enough for them to stand. The Flukemon, on the other hand, are more than just an annoyance. They're an actual danger to their little sibling, especially since Charm is not exactly the best in wielding a weapon. They can hit things, though, which is more than Ghost can say about Brook.

A quick gesture to their sibling to wait and Ghost leaps down landing silently. They survey the area quickly, pleased to find it empty of threats, and turn to chirp the all clear to their sibling.

Without hesitation, Charm hurls themself off the edge, shrieking victoriously as they fall.

Ghost has the sudden, sinking realization that Charm is the type to recklessly rush into battle for the laughs. No wonder Lief cackled at them when they decided to just take Charm and run instead of looking for another sibling who could fight.

Getting through the City of Tears without incident is going to be a problem, isn't it.


	6. Interlude: Freya

There is no ghost within the Fungal Wastes.

At least, Freya certainly hopes not.

Her father may be a stubborn fool, but she loves him dearly. To hear that he's been stabbed--in the safety of their own village! To hear this sends chills down her spine.

Freya barrels through the tunnels, Ze'mer keeping stride with her. Behind them, she can hear the buzzing of the young warrior as he frantically tries to keep up with them. She's exhausted, both from the emotional turmoil and the spar with her girlfriend, but panic spurs her on.

If her father dies, Freya doesn't know what she'll do.

(Cry probably, and spend a long time in denial. The same way she reacted when her mother was struck down in front of her.)

The gates of the village loom in front of her, but Freya doesn't stop. She leaps up the walls, cresting over them, and skids to a halt. Behind, Ze'mer curses but leaps up to join her at the top. She's clearly just used her lance to launch herself up the wall. "Meled'lover? Is le'mer well?"

"Where is he?" Freya instead demands, gaze zeroing in upon the guard upon the wall. A quick hand gesture points towards the halls that only the Mantis Lords sleep within. Freya leaps down, her wings fanning out to slow her fall. Ze'mer lands easily behind her, lance now on her back.

She darts across the tops of the buildings, almost slamming into the doors leading to the family wing. Ze'mer manages to grab her, pulling open the door so that Freya can enter. "Does meled'lover wish che' wait?"

Freya hesitates, then her eyes narrow. Her shoulders pull back and she draws herself up to her full height, shaking her head sharply. "No. My father is just going to have to deal with it."

Ze'mer tilts her head to the side in understanding, moving to fall in line behind Freya. She marches down the hall to her father's room, stilling in front of the door. "What. . . happened here?" Freya whispers, dropping so she can press her hand against the metal.

It's been caved in at the edges of two segments, like something long and sharp had been stabbed into it and used to pry it open. Something like one of her aunt's lances. Freya presses a hand against the opening, then wriggles through, tumbling to the floor with a curse. Now on the other side, Ze'mer mutters something that Freya can't catch.

"Meled'lover can head ahead. Che' will have to widen the hole to follow." Freya peers through, leaning forward just enough so she can press a kiss against Ze'mer's mask. She pulls back through and glances at the door leading to her father's room, wincing when she realizes that, too, has a hole in it.

Her girlfriend slams her lance into the hole in the door and throws her weight to the side, the metal groaning as it bends with the force. Freya considers her father's bedroom, but draws her own lance. Shoving it in from the other side, she pushes until the hole is large enough for Ze'mer to crawl through.

She can see the exact moment when Ze'mer's gaze falls onto the second door. "Che' has got to be kidding che'," Ze'mer says flatly. Freya laughs nervously, but moves to slam her lance into the opening.

The slow groan of the metal giving away makes Freya grit her jaw. Her mandibles quiver at the sound. Ze'mer's shoulders hunch slightly, but they pry the opening wider until Ze'mer herself can fit through.

Freya pokes her head in first. Her father is laying half slumped in a new nest, eyes half-closed. Her aunts are buzzing around, gathering up the remains of his hemolymph soaked nest. The smell of his blood is thick and heavy. Her father's been bleeding for a long time. It's amazing he didn't die because of it.

Slowly, she climbs in through the hole, her lance clanging against the metal. Her father opens his eyes, blinking at the light. He's lucid, she notes, and the empty bottles by his side say that he's currently drugged to the chitin with lifeblood and pain relievers.

(There isn't a single speck of orange in his gaze.)

"Freya," he says softly. His gaze slides past her and then narrows, on where Freya knows Ze'mer is climbing through the hole. She draws herself up to her full height, glaring down at him. For a moment, his gaze slides from her to Ze'mer and then back again. Then her father slumps in his nest with a heavy sigh, eyes sliding closed. "You know I can't allow it," he says, finally.

Ze'mer's shoulders straighten. Freya can tell she's angry, but is still trying to be polite. Her aunts move forward, their lances at their side. "Fine," Freya grits out, furious to her core. She waves a hand over the whole mess. "What happened? You were fine last night."

She stiffens slightly, only relaxing when Ze'mer moves forward to wrap an arm around her waist. She leans against her, shaking slightly. Her father growls, but turns his face away.

"I was not fine," her father snaps. "And I know for a fact you were all ignoring that I was infected by the Light." He twists in an attempt to get up, not even making it more than a foot before he collapses back down, snarling. A hand flies up to press against the tightly wrapped bandages around his chest and swears spill from his mouth.

Freya stares at him. "Infected," she repeats, even though she knows it's true. She'd seen the glints of orange in his gaze herself. The glints she ignored for fear that she'd lose her father, too.

"Was?" Ze'mer asks, and Freya tilts her gaze upwards. "Meled'lover's father _was_ infected?"

That's a good point. Freya blinks slowly. Her father makes a face, her aunts exchanging a slow glance between them. "Get rid of the Outsider first, then we'll talk," he snaps.

A hiss of anger escapes her and Freya puffs up, barely keeping herself from storming from the room in a rage. "She has been nothing but polite!"

"She's an outsider," Aunt Vatina says, carefully. "You know the rules."

"Che' loves Freya," Ze'mer snaps in return, moving to press Freya behind her. "And if che' must fight le'mer to prove it, then che' will!"

Freya finds herself stilling, heart leaping in her chest. Gods, but her wonderful girlfriend has accidentally stumbled across the solution. By the sour look on her father's face, he seems to know it too.

(She doesn't cackle wildly in her family's faces, but it's very close.)


	7. Ghost

There are two ghosts in the Royal Waterways.

There are two very soaked ghosts in the Royal Waterways. 

Ghost is going to strangle their sibling. 

Charm, and boy is that a misnomer, is taking great glee in flinging themself into every puddle they can. Ghost has the sinking sensation that this is revenge for the whole naming incident only a little while earlier. Perhaps they shouldn't have just gone and run with the first name their sibling thought up. In fact, they probably could have avoided this situation entirely.

So far, they've been splashed easily a dozen times, and the number is still counting.

While they had assumed that the first few times had been an accident, the way Charm kept glancing at them just before leaping in quickly removed that thought. They were absolutely doing this to be a little shit. In fact, Charm seemed to be giving themself points for how wet Ghost emerged after each splash.

Ghost counts to ten, then backwards. Then repeats the process when they are, once again, splashed horn to foot in water.

They are not allowed to absolutely murder their sibling, no matter how appealing the option may look.  
Fortunately, they don't have too far to go before they reach the elevator shaft that leads up into the City. Ghost is hoping that it won't be guarded, and if it is there are a few deep enough shadows that they can use to slip by unnoticed.

Of course, that's assuming they can get Charm to stay quiet.

A rather tall order, considering that Charm has just rushed by them, screeching loudly, to throw themself into a deep pool of water. Ghost rubs at their mask, grimacing at the feel of slick splattered across it, and tries not to sigh.

" _Sibling,_ " they sign. 

Charm doesn't so much as look at them. They're too busy splashing water at everything they can reach. Ghost carefully makes sure to stay out of their range, idly turning to glance around the room. Over the sound of Charm's glee, they can hear something else. A heavy slucking sound, pitched low and echoey. Like something is slobbering and slurping. A Flukemon. Hopefully, it's only one of them. The damn things have a nasty habit of traveling in small groups. 

They can't quite tell where it is coming from, and Ghost slowly turns around in a circle. A bust of light heralds the summoning of their blade. They'd dismissed it earlier when it became clear they'd have to crawl through the tunnels. Ghost grabs the handle and spins it, quickly testing the weight. Not bad considering that they'd held their twin's blade only once. 

Ghost forces a sharp click, a command to come to their side right now. Charm looks up from where they're standing in a puddle and trots over. They press their sibling behind them, making sure that there is nothing but a wall behind, and slowly survey the area. 

The slobbering noises grow louder, then cut off. Ghost narrows their eyes and drops their stance a little lower, ready to swing at a second's notice. They might be currently annoyed by Charm's splashing, but they will not allow any harm to come to them. 

A high pitched noise echoes through the area, hungry and ravenous for blood, and a Flukemon bursts out of the shadows. It careens towards the two of them, all six tiny arms flailing about wildly as it slobbers. Charm screeches in horrified fear and cowers behind Ghost, chirping frantically in panic.

Half a heartbeat, a millisecond for it to get close enough, and Ghost bisects it with one quick swipe. Hemolymph splatters across the ground, thick and viscous but uninfected, and Ghost narrows their gaze. They brace themself for the horrible screaming that will shortly follow. 

Charm peeks out from behind their leg and takes a step forward, stopping when Ghost firmly plants themself in front of their sibling once more. Ghost shakes their head sharply, lowest hand signing a sharp " _No._ " Charm gasps and ducks back behind Ghost.

The top half of the Flukemon bursts open, revealing a vicious mouth filled with sharp teeth. It screams as it lunges towards them, gaping maw snapping furiously. The scream is pitched and high, making Charm tremble as they duck a little further down. 

Ghost doesn't hesitate to cut the damn thing down, scowling as it explodes and splatters them with hemolypmh. The area goes quiet. They turn their gaze to the remaining bottom half of the Flukemon, flicking the tip of the blade upwards in a beckoning motion. 

Clearly realizing that Ghost isn't going to be caught unaware, that these two are not normal prey, the remaining part of the Flukemon reveals its own mouth and lunges. Ghost slaughters it just as easily, and relaxes when the waterways are plunged back into silence. They stand up, shoulders dropping out of their tense position, and slide the nail onto their back. 

**_Is it gone?_** Charm asks, and Ghost blinks at the fear that travels through the void. 

It makes sense, of course. They're far more used to the sort of creatures that crawl through the waterways. And while they dislike the Flukemon, they're not afraid of them. 

They push reassurance down the link and reach out to scoop Charm up, cradling them in their arms against their chest. Grimmchild squirms around their neck and drapes his head over Charm's horns, spitting out a puff of fire before closing his eyes. Charm makes a soft noise and leans back against Ghost. 

Their map tells them they have to jump up a level and Ghost does so with ease, their wings beating sharply as they leap upwards. Ghost still hasn't quite figured out how to fly with them, but they'll get eventually. Their father was apparently capable of full flight, and they refuse to believe that they haven't inherited that ability. 

Charm makes a gagging noise and covers their face. Grimmchild recoils and buries his face in the ruff of their cloak. Ghost tilts their face down at them. They sniff the air, confused, and then groan at the familiar, terrible smell. 

Ogrim.

Of course.

They had completely forgotten he had an area down here in the Waterways. An area that they're going to have to travel through if they want to make it to the elevator shaft. 

(Is the elevator even broken at this time? Has it not yet crashed to the bottom of the shaft, shattered into pieces of ruined metal and broke hopes?)

Ghost presses a free hand against their face and heaves a sigh. Hopefully they'll get lucky and be able to sneak through without Ogrim being there. They stride forward quickly, leaping up onto ledges and trying not to cringe as the floors of the waterways quickly change from metal to Ogrim's favorite method of decoration. 

The tunnel narrows. Ghost snarls. They absolutely refuse to crawl here, not even if they're forced to do so. Charm makes a worried noise and pats their shoulder as best they can. Ghost coos in reassurance and ducks their head, careful to keep their horns from scraping against the ceiling. They narrow their eyes and dash forward, praying that the tunnel is short enough they can make it all the way to the end before it ends.

They do.

Barely.

Shade Dash ends only a millisecond after the tunnel widens to the arena where they fought Ogrim and Ghost heaves a sigh of relief. They regret the breath taken a moment later and groan, using the free hand to cover their mask. They're absolutely going to bathe in the nearest water source in the City after this.

Even if they have to throw themself in, Charm and Grimmchild and all.

Ghost can't stop the wheeze of relief that escapes them after they make it out of the arena. While they were incredibly lucky that he hadn't been there at that moment, they really hope that Ogrim can't tell that someone came through. They scramble down the path and poke their head out into the elevator shaft. It doesn't appear to be as ruined as they remember and Ghost blinks slowly.

It also appears to be fully unguarded.

They can take this path.

Thank the stars, Ghost thinks, spreading their wings so they can jump out onto the platform. Charm cackles from their place in Ghost's arms, waving their own arms excitedly as they make their way upwards.

The entrance to the City of Tears is still open, apparently only used by the bugs unfortunate enough to maintain the system, and Ghost quickly peers around. No one nearby at the moment. Good. They could use some luck after the slog through the waterways.

A wave of their hand and some momentary focus, and their cloak quickly replaces itself with one that hasn't been dragged through mud and stars only know what else.

They are not taking the trio back through the waterways, not if they can help it. Ghost sets Charm down so they can shudder, and reaches for the void to create a hooded cloak for both of them. They pull up their hood first, making sure that it covers Grimmchild completely, and then reach down to pull up Charm's as well.

No need to attract attention, after all.

They hope. 


	8. Lurien

There are ghosts in the City of Tears.

There are many, many, _many_ ghosts in the City of Tears.

Lurien is going to make sure that no one else has to die anymore. The Soul Master has had free reign over his domain for far too long. How many bugs have suffered under his hands? How many have died to further his twisted experiments? How long has Lurien been blind to these injustices?

He must deal with this immediately. Perhaps, if he can take care of it without involving His majesty, He will be proud? 

His title is Keeper of the Spire, Watcher of the City of Tears. It's about damn time Lurien proves himself worthy of such names. His majesty believes in him, trusts him to keep the City safe. 

The Soul Master will be brought down, hopefully with as few casualties as possible. It's the least Lurien can do to make up to all those lives lost. For all those who died while the Watcher was Blinded to the Truth. 

(Why his foresight is currently so useless, Lurien does not know.)

Lucius gently opens the door, slipping into the room to stand in front of his desk. Lurien breathes in and opens up all three of his eyes, letting his full gaze burn. "Please send for the Captain of the Guards, Lucius."

"Of course, Keeper." His butler bows and slips out of the room. Lurien reaches over and grabs his mask, slipping it on over his face. The third eye glows brightly out of the single hole and he pulls his hood up over his antennae. Now suitably robed for company, he claps his hands in front of his face and rests the chin of his mask against them. 

It's time.

The door clicks open and the Captain of his guards steps into the room. She bows, graceful and easy, but there's a tight tenseness in her actions. She's worried about how this is going to go. Rather reasonable, considering that they're going to be going up against Magic wielders. Those who were foul and cruel enough to steal lifeforce from others and use it as their own. "Sir," she says, saluting. "I've put together a large platoon, more than enough to take down the Soul Sanctum."

"I assume you've kept this as quiet as possible, of course?" Lurien inquires, because Soul Master setting a trap for them would not end well. 

She nods sharply. "Of course, Keeper. Everyone on this mission has been personally vetted. The Soul Master will not know what hit him."

Lurien huffs a laugh and gets up from behind his desk. While the cloak hides his face, it doesn't hide the way the markings on his hands glow with Soul. "Move out, then. The sooner we deal with this, the less casualties. The sooner I can get started on informing families of their lost, loved ones."

"Of course, sir." His captain strides out of the door, her steps rhythmic and quick. Lurien drifts after her, his lazy glide hiding the lethal power at his fingertips. 

They make their way down the Watcher's Spire, halting at the bottom. Lurien sweeps his gaze across the gathered guards in front of him, letting his third eye pass over each one. "Today," he says, and his voice is filled with barely restrained rage, "we are going to deal with an injustice. For too long, Soul Master and the Soul Sanctum have gone unchecked. Too many people have vanished into its depths, too many lives snuffed out." He pauses, and the guards are now muttering angrily. "Today we're going to deal with it. Be very careful, for I have seen nothing and do not know what we will be dealing with." Lurien's gaze flickers to the captain. She's glaring darkly at the path ahead, shoulders tensed. "Captain?"

She slashes a hand through the air. Instantly, all attention is on her. "Move out!" she barks. "If you cannot take them alive, then I give permission to kill!"

Lurien breathes in slow, feeling grief settle heavily across his frame. He wishes it hadn't come to this, that he hadn't had to give the kill command. But in the end, he's had to decide who is more important. The bugs who are guarding his city, or those who are actively harming it. 

Gods, he hopes they can take all under Soul Master's command alive. 

He blinks himself out of his thoughts as soon as they step into Soul Sanctum, swallowing tightly, and squares up his shoulders. The air has changed, becoming thicker and darker. Lurien can taste the soul just floating about and his markings are already glowing brighter.

The smell of death, pain, and fear is impossible to miss. 

Lurien is sick to his stomach. He hates that they've missed this, that this has gone on for so long without notice. Well, no longer. This ends now.

He gestures sharply and the guards immediately spread out, searching through the piles of corpses for any lucky enough to survive. Lurien has no hope, though. He can't sense any life other than them around, but above them.

Oh, above them.

Soul Master. And several others. And a ritual circle. 

A sharp gesture brings the captain and six guards to his side. Perhaps, if they're quick enough, they can save the unfortunate souls trapped inside that runic death trap. He palms a summoned blade and leaps upwards, fanning what remains of his ruined wings to better catch the air. The guards follow quickly behind, the buzz of their wings the only sound.

Lurien vaults up to the next floor and hits the ground running. He can't see the runic circle, as its above them, but he can hear Soul Master's voice. Not enough to make out the words, but the tone is enough. Gloating. Victorious. So certain in his victory. 

He makes a quick calculation and then slaps his hand against the ground, pushing soul into it. A single pillar materializes, white and gleaming and oh so very sharp, and plunges into the ceiling. Lurien pushes a little harder, shoves a little more power into it, and has to contain a smirk.

Above them, the runic circle shatters with the tinkering of glass and the familiar acidic smell of a failed spell. 

Leaping easily up onto the floor, he breathes in and stands up tall, meeting the enraged gaze of the Soul Master. "Enjoying a few illegal activities, I see," he says dryly, idly tapping his foot against the edge of the circle. There are three bugs in the center, unmoving but alive. Unconscious, but still breathing. Good. He hopes they stay that way.

Soul Master growls. "You will never understand what I'm doing, you stupid butterfly. So stuck under that Glittering Idiot's thumb that you can't even think for yourself. I'm advancing us higher! I will Ascend!"

Ah, a case of insanity, most likely brought on by whatever slaughtered the Old Light. Lurien shakes his head. "You do know that His Majesty would never allow that, no?"

"Once I've ascended, he would bow to me." Soul Master looms up, floating a solid two feet off the ground. Lurien doesn't hesitate to bring up a shield, wincing when the other slams against it at full speed. Smoke covers his vision for but a moment and when it's gone, so is the Soul Master.

Lurien whirls with a curse, just barely in time to see him disappear down through the opening in the floor. Shit, he thinks, barking commands to the guards as he lunges after him. Of course the other would try to escape. It's not like he didn't have the firepower. 

Anything he could have wielded, Lurien was strong enough to counter. Fleeing to return another day, stronger and stronger, was the better option. 

Well, it's not an option Lurien can allow him to make.

Soul Master, however, can fly. Lurien is panting by the time they've hit the streets, having barreled back down through the sanctuary in an attempt to keep up. He can see several guards ahead of him, their wings buzzing rapidly as they attempt to keep up with the fleeing Soul Master. He launches himself off of a higher ledge and sends several blasts of soul hurtling forward, cursing loudly when they barely miss. 

Cobblestone cracks and shatters, sending up plumes of dust. Civilians shriek as the guards quickly pull them out of the way into safety.

Lurien pushes off again, letting the soul he's stored rush through him. He has to be faster, has to get closer, has to catch up before Soul Master gets away. 

Through the mess of civilians in front of Soul Master, two catch his eye. One tall, with long, graceful horns that stick out of a thick cloak. And a small one, just barely up to the other's knee. "Get out of the way!" Lurien bellows, because gods above, he is not going to have a child injured on his watch. 

Startled, the tall one turns and--

Mask as pale as bone, chitin as dark as void, quiet like the ever yawning shadows. 

The ghost in the City of Tears leaps upwards on long, endless legs, spins gracefully, and slams the side of their foot into Soul Master's face. Lurien is greeted with the split second of expression, as the Soul Master's mask shatters into hundreds of pieces, and then he's slammed face first into the side of a building. A second later, he hits the ground.

Dust explodes everywhere. The ghost lands without a sound, not even a single strand out of place on their cloak. They don't look bothered by the fact that they've just teleported to kick the Soul Master twice.

They broke his mask in a single hit.

There's an indentation in both spots. Lurien skids to a halt, goggling at the sheer amount of force put into the blow.

Soul Master, from where he's been plowed a solid foot into the ground, doesn't so much as twitch. The smaller ghost giggles from their spot behind the tall one and darts forward, poking Soul Master's face with their chubby little fingers. The taller ghost leans down to pick them up, nestling them against their chest with ease. 

Lurien stares at them, then squints. There's a third form wrapped around the ghost's shoulders, with eyes and carapace as red as ripe winter berries. There's something vaguely familiar about them, too, but he can't put his finger on it. 

He distracted by the arrival of the guards, and when he turns back, the ghost is gone.


	9. Ghost

There are two ghosts in the City of Tears.

One of them is filled to the brim with a vicious sort of satisfaction. 

Admittedly, they hadn't known it was Soul Master when they'd first reacted. The shout, a desperate call of "Get out of the way!" that makes Ghost start. They whirl quickly, barely keeping themself from summoning a nail, and come face to face with someone barreling towards them. 

There is no place to go, not with civilians at their sides and Charm pressed up behind them. They won't be able to swoop down and grab their sibling in time, not without getting plowed down. Especially since the bug charging towards them clearly has no intentions to stop or move.

Ghost steps a little further in front of Charm and then leaps upwards. They spin, using soul to force the move, and slam their foot directly into the bug's mask. 

It shatters with the blow and Ghost gets a crystal clear view of the bug's now maskless face. They take in Soul Master's fear and surprise, the way his eyes have blown open wide, and something inside of them curls in vicious delight. 

(He clearly recognizes them. Godhome had some good interaction with the waking realm, after all. Ghost smiles. It's all teeth.)

_Hello, little bug,_ they project into his mind, already teleporting to where he has crashed into the side of a building. Ghost brings their foot down again, slamming Soul Master into the cobblestone streets with a cackle that vibrates through the void. 

Soul Master slams down into the street with enough force to shatter the stones, driving him deep into the soil. They land gracefully beside him, idly brushing off their cloak and smirk at the damage they have wrought.

It's not like he doesn't deserve it, after all.

Grimmchild makes a noise of complaint from where he's still curled up within their cloak, but settles down easily when they pet his head. Ghost hums, feeling Charm trot up to clutch at their legs. They glance down at them, then pause when footsteps finally register.

"By the Gods," someone whispers, and Ghost tilts their mask upwards to meet the newcomer.

They are completely unprepared to come face to face with Lurien the Watcher.

Despite the mask covering his face, Ghost can easily read the shock and surprise in every line of his frame. He skids to a halt, dust and small stones scattering everywhere, and pants heavily for a long moment. From behind them, Charm giggles and darts forward, poking at Soul Master's face almost viciously.

It takes Ghost a hot minute to realize that they've projected their own emotions about Soul Master through the void. Charm doesn't even know him, yet here they are displaying the same hatred. No, Ghost hates him. Charm doesn't, having never met him, so it's bleeding through as major dislike.

Ghost leans down, reaching out to snatch Charm before they can draw their tiny nail and stab him. They bundle their sibling against their chest, folding all four arms for Charm to sit upon, and let their void rumble in reassurance. Charm chirps at them in return, bright and cheerful. Lurien tilts his head to the side and they get the sensation that he's staring at something.

When the guards show up, Lurien turns to greet them. Two quickly dart forward, wings buzzing rapidly, to haul Soul Master to his feet. Ghost takes a moment to verify that he's still alive, as disappointing as that is, and turns to stalk off towards the edge of the city. They have an appointment to keep, after all.

Charm points forward towards where they have to go and Ghost huffs a laugh, obliging. Grimmchild chirps from beneath their cloak, squirming out to drape their face across the top of Charm's mask. Ghost reaches a single hand upwards to steady the little one, humming softly as they walk. The sooner they get to the Nailsmith, the better.

They slip through the city, easily weaving between nobles and civilians. Grimmchild attempts to spit fire at anyone who comes near them, but Ghost reaches up to clamp their mouth shut with a sharp glare. **_No,_** they project through the void, watching with deep amusement as Grimmchild immediately curls back up in their cloak.

Through the void, they can tell he's sulking.

**_You can murder anything that attacks us when we leave the city,_** Ghost promises with a whisper, and barely keeps themself from cackling when both Grimmchild and Charm immediately perk up.

Ghost breaks away from the crowd heading towards the elevator and heads towards the exit leading to the Nailsmith. Gods, but they really hope he's there. They genuinely don't know what they're gonna do if he isn't.

The road up to his home is no longer broken into columns that plunge into pits of water, but is instead a fully built bridge. Ghost hums in appreciation, taking the chance to just glance around as they walk across. It's actually rather nice here, now that it's not infected and ruined. They leap upwards, splaying their wings to flap up to where the Nailsmith's house should be.

They can see the glow of the forge from where they currently stand, on a ledge below, and Ghost breathes in slowly. **_Please behave,_** they think, rather pointedly at Grimmchild.

Charm chirps in begrudging acceptance. **_Sibling do talking?_** they ask. **_Will sibling need arms?_**

It takes Ghost a moment to realize what Charm means. **_We may need our hands, yes._** They project their amusement and huff a laugh, leaping up onto the final ledge. Ghost pauses for a moment to brace themself and then ducks inside.

Nailsmith is exactly as they remember, Ghost realizes once their eyes have adjusted to the gloom of the smithy. Charm chirps a hello from their arms. The Nailsmith looks up from his work, frowning at their intrusion.

Ghost opens their arms and Charm hops to the ground. The nail on their back glints in the light, the pure ore reflecting beautifully. Nailsmoth's gaze snaps to the nail. Ghost, sensing a problem, quickly steps in front of their sibling to block his view. They push their cloak outwards and raise their hands up, waving one to attract his attention.

A frown crosses his face. "That nail the little one has. . ."

" _What of it?_ " Ghost signs. " _It was ours when we were younger. We no longer can wield it so we passed it on._ " They narrow their eyes. " _We have a different request for you, Nailsmith, if you are willing to take it._ "

"I can promise to listen," the Nailsmith sighs out, setting aside the nail he was hammering.

They relax a little and gesture to Charm. Their sibling holds out the Pure Nail. Ghost stills just a little.

This is it. Gods, but they hope Nailsmith doesn't notice.

Nailsmith takes it, frowning. "It's incredibly good work," he says. "I've never seen a Pure Nail like this before."  
Ghost reaches into their cloak, into the void that they use to hide the items they wish to travel with, and draws out several more pieces of Pure Ore. They set them down onto the Nailsmith's counter, watching as the bug's eyes grow huge behind his mask. " _We have siblings,_ " they sign. " _Siblings who wish to explore but do not have nails of their own. We want to make sure they will be safe._ "

"A reasonable desire." The Nailsmith grabs a piece of ore and examines it closely. "A fine piece of ore, and I'm willing to bet that all the rest will be just as good quality." His gaze travels upwards to meet Ghost's own. "How many nails do you need?"

They relax, air rushing out of them. " _Not counting our own nail, and the one Charm holds, thirteen. Is that within your capabilities, Nailsmith?_ "

For but a moment, Nailsmith goggles at the sheer amount of nails to forge. He rubs at his face and sighs. "If you are willing to wait, and pay, I will see what I can do." He reaches over to the side and grabs something, then starts clicking stones together. It takes Ghost a moment to realize he's counting, most likely totaling the price. They brace themself. "Let's see. I usually charge about 800 for a Channelled Nail, and you've asked me for 13 of them, so."

Ghost begins neatly stacking geo on the counter, idly doing the math in their head. They're not very good at it, but eight hundred is less than a thousand, so it's going to be under thirteen thousand.

"Just over ten thousand," Nailsmith finally says. "The total will be ten thousand, four hundred geo even."

Not as bad as they thought, then. Ghost swipes the amount into a bag and sets it onto the counter, ignoring the fact that their stash of geo has barely been dented. Perhaps their travels through the ruins of the kingdom were a little too fruitful. 

" _We will take our leave, then._ " Ghost bows slowly, deeply. " _That reminds us, if you find yourself needing more than just a forge, we have heard that there is a Nailmaster around. One of the pupils strikes us as particularly good company._ "

Charm places the nail back onto their back and demands to be picked up again. Ghost obliges, letting their sibling nestle themself in their arms. They turn towards the door, pausing only when the Nailsmith coughs behind them.

"I do not know how you got a nail of mine, but it is cared well for. Good luck, little spirit. We shall take your advice."

The Nailsmith returns to his work with the heavy slam of a door, leaving a rather shaken vessel standing in front of his home.


	10. Lurien

There are three ghosts in the City of Tears.

One large, one small, and one soon to be executed Soul Master. 

Rather annoyed at the ghost's vanishing act, Lurien gestures to the two guards dragging the limp form. They nod and step back, letting Soul Master crumple to the ground. He breathes in slowly, gathering the soul at the tips of his fingers, and casts. The lights curl up around the slumped body, runes and seals writing across his chitin and clothing, then sear into place with a brilliant flash.

Normally the smell of burning chitin would make Lurien wince, but he finds the vindictive part of himself purring in satisfaction. Soul Master dared harm his city. He had this coming from the very moment he decided to rip lifeforce away from innocent lives, killing them and hoarding it for himself.

Lurien surveys his work with a vicious sort of satisfaction, feeling his mouth curve into a smirk. With these runes burned into Soul Master's flesh and chitin, he won't be able to wield soul. Not a single drop will answer his call. He'll be helpless. 

It will be more than easy enough to drag him to the Palace for a trial, though there won't be much of one with the evidence Lurien has to present, and then subsequent execution. That dark part of him, so angry at Soul Master getting away with this for so long, is satisfied. 

"I will need two who are willing to haul him through the portal," Lurien says, turning to gather the soul to do so. He can hear a quick sharp conversation behind him, then the rest of the guards dismiss themselves. He closes his eyes, straightens up, and drags up the mask of The Watcher. He is the Keeper of the Spire, about to send one who had been his own to his death.

No regrets, except that he wished he'd seen this earlier. Far, far earlier. How long had the Soul Sanctum been operating behind his back? Lurien doesn't know, and he hopes they pray he never finds out. He'll tear the whole damn place to the ground given a chance. 

The portal opens with the buzzing of soul, mixed with the whirl of the void and shadows and endless roar of power. Lurien rolls his shoulders., glances back to make sure the two guards are dragging Soul Master between them, and strides through the portal.

Despite having portaled many times, it's still nauseating. Lurien hesitates on the other side for but a moment to readjust, then moves to let the others come through. The guards are clearly not happy about the portal, but unfortunately they didn't have a better choice. "We can fly back," Lurien promises them, deeply amused at the dual sighs of relief. "For now, we have to drag this carcass to His majesty."

"Then we can leave?" the younger of the two guards asks. 

The older one rolls his eyes, visible even with the mask, and reaches over to swat his companion without dropping Soul Master. Lurien sighs, reaching up to press a hand against his mask and groan. "Yes," he says, somewhere between deeply amused and tired, "you can leave. I will probably stay behind to speak with His majesty, but you are free to go."

He stares up at the palace for a long moment, then strides forward through the door, head high. The two Kingsmoulds stare down at him. For a second Lurien is afraid they won't step aside, but then they bow, quick and low, and step aside. Lurien waves a hand and strides in, the two guards dragging Soul Master with them. 

A tall bug with a brilliant red eyes stands nearby. Grimm. Lurien hates him immensely. 

His majesty sits on the throne at the back of the room, pale light gleaming far brighter than Lurien has ever seen. He's angry, and not even bothering to hide it. "Watcher," He says, "Report." 

Lurien bows, low and deep. "My king," he murmurs, almost reverently, and straightens from his bow. "We have successfully discovered the source of the missing citizens in the City of Tears."

The Pale King peers down at them, gaze narrowing onto the bound and sealed Soul Master. "We assume it has to do with him?"

"Yes, my king." Lurien swallows tightly. "We originally set out to investigate Soul Sanctum after we realized that's where the disappearances were, but things quickly changed."

"Changed?" He tilts his head to the side just slightly. His light brightens. Anger. Lurien breathes in.

"We caught Soul Master in the act of slaughtering civilians to steal their soulforce and using it to increase his own power."

His majesty breathes in sharp, and His light burns so bright the room is blinded. Lurien winces, ducking his face to hide his eyes. When he can open them again, he blinks quickly. The Pale King gets to His feet and strides forward, wings spread wide in his rage. "We shall handle this," He hisses, and His rage has spilled over into thousands of voices at once. Lurien steps back out of the way, idly pitying the two guards for being in His path. He strides forward, slamming His hand against Soul Master's face, and His light burns bright enough that Lurien is forced to look away.

When it clears, Lurien blinks rapidly and finds himself staring with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Where Soul Master once was, slumped and held up by both guards, is nothing but a scorched mark on the floor and four remaining arms. The guards drop the arms in horror and His majesty incinerates the last of them. A wave of His hand dismisses the two guards and they bail out almost immediately, quickly flying out of the palace. Lurien watches them go, turning back just in time to see the Pale King stop in front of him.

"Your majesty," he murmurs. 

"Our dear Watcher," He returns. "You have solved a problem We were not aware We had. The disappearances have long been worrying Us. We rest assured knowing that We made an excellent decision in choosing you as Our Watcher."

Lurien bows, deeply flustered. "I am honored that I have lived up to your expectations, your majesty." 

"Tell Us what happened. We know there is more that We have not been told. You did not speak on his capture."

The Watcher fidgets slightly, now sheepish. "While I did break the ritual circle and rescue those in it, Soul Master used the chance to escape and make a break for it. He made it outside the Soul Sanctum and was barreling down the sidewalk with both myself and the guards right behind."

"He was halted, then? We noticed his lack of mask." 

Lurien nods. "A civilian, your majesty. A ghost that has been seen across the kingdom. They kicked him in the face hard enough to break his mask." 

The Pale King actually starts at that, and so does Grimm who is now leaning forward in interest. Lurien wants to kick the bastard in the face. Hard. He takes a slow, deep breath to steady himself, pausing only to look at the door at the sound of footsteps. 

His majesty turns to see and His shoulders relax. "My child," He says, blithely. "Do you need something?"

The Pure Vessel steps into the room. Lurien feels like his world has just flipped upside down. 

He's staring at a ghost, not the same one from the city, but a ghost none-the-less. Why he didn't make the connection before, he doesn't know.

"Is something wrong, Watcher?" Grimm's words are almost mocking, and there's a deep sense of amusement in his tone.

Lurien's head snaps to him, a snarl already on his tongue, but he chokes when he sees brilliant red eyes. 

A ghost, a small ghost, and a third one with a crimson gaze. 

"Your majesty," he hears himself saying, voice weak and distant even to his own ears, "are you sure that the prince is the only child you have?"


	11. Ambrosia

There are no ghosts in the White Palace.

Other than his child, but Ambrosia is certain that they don't count despite their quiet nature. 

Grimm, however, is about to become a ghost if he doesn't remove himself from Ambrosia's presence right fucking now. 

Behind his mask, Ambrosia's mouth peels back in a vicious snarl, a low warning rumble echoing in his chest. Grimm smirks down at him and leans a little closer, pressing into Ambrosia's personal space. "Grimm," he hisses, and his voice is starting to take the overlapping quality of God Wyrm, "we suggest you remove yourself from Our personal space immediately." 

"But you're so adorable when you're all puffed up like this," Grimm coos. The bastard actually has the gall to wink, and Ambrosia is caught between blushing and kicking him. Hard. He settles for the second option, calling a single soul dagger into existence and hurling it at Grimm.

Grimm, being the over dramatic bastard that he is, catches the dagger and twirls it, smirking. "How sweet of you to gift me something to remember you by." It takes Ambrosia a moment to register the words and then he's snarling loudly, summoning more blades to slash at him with. Grimm teleports out of the way with a flourish, bowing lazily.

Gods damn him. 

No matter what his wife seems to think, Ambrosia refuses to believe that Grimm is interested in him like that. At least, not without an ulterior motive. Grimm always has a reason for something. Blood and Wyrm, his sister is Radiance herself. Ambrosia wouldn't trust him with a child, much less his own heart. He knows better than that. 

Ambrosia gears himself up for another round when he pauses, tilts his head to the side, and slowly turns to face the front palace entrance. He's a good distance away but even then he can still identify his Watcher's magic. A portal, then, seeing as the butterfly had appeared almost out of thin air. Ambrosia tastes the magic and reels at the thick cloud of anger running through it. 

Whatever Lurien is coming to him for, Ambrosia has the sinking feeling that he's not going to like it. Altercation with Grimm forgotten, Ambrosia strides quickly towards the throne room. He can hear Grimm shouting in surprise behind him and picks up his pace. His wings splay outwards, vibrating violently, and he buzzes into the room just in time to settle himself onto the throne and brighten his light. 

Grimm teleports in with a puff of flame and smoke, cursing in that old Dream Tongue that makes Ambrosia's chitin crawl. He leans against the wall with a smirk, crossing his arms, and lazily hoods his stupidly pretty red eyes. Ambrosia should throw him out.

The doors creak open and Lurien strides in, head held high. His mask and cloak are firmly in place and Ambrosia winces internally. Usually Lurien is too soft and gentle for his Watcher persona, walls slammed up high and vicious words. The fact that he deems that mask important definitely means Ambrosia isn't going to like this.

Two guards follow his Watcher, dragging the unconscious, maskless Soul Master between them. 

Fuck. Ambrosia is _definitely_ not going to like this.

"Watcher," he says instead, his voice toneless. "Report."

Lurien visibly winces, but bows low and deep. "My king, we have successfully discovered the source of the missing citizens in the City of Tears."

That's good, given that the last time he had checked they had no idea why citizens were vanishing. He tilts his head to the side, gaze narrowing. "We assume it has to do with him?" 

"Yes, my king." Lurien swallows tightly, and his cloak flutters a little as his wings flex beneath it. A nervous tic that he's never been able to hide. "We originally set out to investigate Soul Sanctum after we realized that's where the disappearances were, but things quickly changed."

"Changed?" He tilts his head to the side just slightly. Ambrosia can feel the anger simmering beneath his chitin and his light glows brighter in response. 

"We caught Soul Master in the act of slaughtering civilians to steal their soulforce and using it to increase his own power."

For a moment Ambrosia doesn't even register the words, then anger sets in. His light burns for but a moment in his fury, blinding everyone in the room. Grimm curses beside him, ducking his face beneath his wings. Ambrosia would feel bad, but he's too busy leaning forward, snarling viciously. How dare he. He had given Soul Master that territory to look after, to care for, to protect. And this is how he treats it? Like a toy to play with?

"We shall handle this," he hisses, furious to his core. He gets to his feet, shimmering brilliantly in his rage, and stalks forward off of the dais. His wings are bristling beneath his robes, tail thrashing back and forth almost violently. Ambrosia stops in front of Soul Master and slaps his hand against his maskless face, eyes glowing with power. 

_I can hear it...The whispering of their souls... His jealousy... his madness... by standing against me he robbed me of my immortality! My dreams are eternal and so am I!_

Ambrosia growls, tight and angry, and gathers soul within his fingers. No, he is most certainly not immortal. A pulse, bright and hot and searing, and when it clears all that remains of Soul Master are four arms clutched within the guard's grip. They drop them in horror and Ambrosia burns those, too. His anger seeps out of him, a slow ebb that drains away like rain after a storm. 

The guards flee the palace as soon as they're dismissed. Ambrosia doesn't blame them. They've never withstood a God's anger, not the way Lurien has. He stops in front of Lurien, who is blinking rapidly from his burning light. In the background, he can hear Grimm cursing his name for the second time. 

Oops. He hadn't meant to blind everyone, but he was just so. . . angry. 

"Your Majesty," Lurien murmurs, soft and reverent. Ambrosia smiles up at him behind his mask, gaze softening. He knows he can trust his Watcher, knows he can come to him for advice should a need arise. 

"Our dear Watcher," Ambrosia returns. "You have solved a problem We were not aware We had. The disappearances have long been worrying Us. We rest assured knowing that We made an excellent decision in choosing you as Our Watcher." He clasps his hands together, sleeves billowing at the edges. 

Lurien bows again. He seems oddly flustered. "I am honored that I have lived up to your expectations, your majesty." 

"Tell Us what happened. We know there is more that We have not been told. You did not speak on his capture."

The Watcher fidgets slightly, clearly thinking over his words before speaking. "While I did break the ritual circle and rescue those in it, Soul Master used the chance to escape and make a break for it. He made it outside the Soul Sanctum and was barreling down the sidewalk with both myself and the guards right behind."

"He was halted, then? We noticed his lack of mask." 

Lurien nods. "A civilian, your majesty. A ghost that has been seen across the kingdom. They kicked him in the face hard enough to break his mask." 

That makes Ambrosia pause. "Oh?" Behind him he is vaguely aware of Grimm leaning closer in apparent interest. Reasonable enough given that the civilians normally found within the City of Tears were uppity nobles who like complaining more than anything else. They wouldn't be caught dead lifting a nail like a common guard. 

A knock at the doorway makes him pause, and Ambrosia turns his gaze. Hallow is peeking in the doorway, looking cautious about entering. "Do you need something, my child?" 

They nod quickly and step inside, brushing aside their cloak to reveal their arms. A rather long conversation then, given that they're setting up to sign an entire story. Ambrosia moves back to settle onto his throne, draping his tail around his ankles. 

"Is something wrong, Watcher?" Grimm says, in a distinctly mocking tone. Ambrosia glances up at the silence. Lurien might be wearing his mask, but his body language is screaming stunned disbelief. He's also staring at Hallow like he's just seen something he shouldn't have. 

It takes Lurien three tries to speak, jaw clicking together in a way that has Ambrosia cringing. "Your majesty," Lurien starts, and his voice is as faint as someone about to collapse right where they stand, "are you sure that the prince is the only child you have?"

Ambrosia stills. Anger builds in his throat, vicious and cold. "We think you had better explain yourself, Watcher." 

Lurien wrenches his gaze off of Hallow. "The civilian in the city looked. . ." He trails off and swallows. "Mask as pale as bone, chitin as black as void, quiet like the ever yawning shadows." The last bit sounds like he's quoting something. Ambrosia wonders if he should look into that. "Eight eyed mask, four arms, a deep cloak. Those were the main differences, but other than that, they looked like a copy of the prince. There was even a little one, no bigger than a few year old hatchling."

He freezes completely. Two of them? Two possible vessels?

Is it possible that more of them survived? That he missed them completely before --

Before he sealed the door to the Abyss.

Oh gods, what has he done.


	12. Grimm

the wonderful [@tokyoteddywolf](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/635810143964119041/those-tears-on-your-cheeks-exposing-trauma-and) made this lovely art of Ghost and Charm. You can consider these to be their canonical appearances for this fic.

* * *

There are no ghosts within the White Palace.

At least, not anymore.

The White Palace only lost a few members of staff to the infection, after all. 

(Their bodies are buried beneath the gardens, serving to aid in the growth of the plants.)

Grimm finds himself deeply amused. His sister tried so hard to slaughter the kingdom, but in the end only managed to off her own people, and a few others, before she got killed. The less amusing part is that he has no idea as to the location of the Dream Heart. God Tokens don't just up and vanish when the being holding them is killed. If there's no chosen heir, it will appear within the possession of the next eligible wielder. Grim, being the bearer of the Nightmare Heart, should have gotten a hold of the Dream Heart almost immediately. That he didn't means that when his sister was killed, whoever did it ascended to her place as the God of Dreams.

Gods, but he really hopes that they're a better bug than she was. Grimm really doesn't like his chances of killing them if they aren't. They killed her, slaughtered her, with an ease that he never had.

Grimm doubts that he could lay a finger on them, even if he really tried.

An alarming thought, to be sure.

(Just as alarming as the Grimmchild Charm going missing. Grimm still hasn't found it. He's getting more worried the longer it goes without being found.)

The rest of the troupe are busy searching for it through rumors, listening and slinking around in the shadows. Grimm had come to the palace in an attempt to see if the Wyrm knew anything, even just a hint.

But, nothing.

He knows nothing, and is instead preoccupied by the sheer panic that comes with suddenly finding himself a new father.

Grimm would laugh at him, except the Pale Wyrm has already threatened his entrails twice. A record, given that he's much more level headed than that. The panic is really showing, apparently.

And Grimm probably isn't helping by flirting wildly. Eh, it doesn't matter too much. He's being entertained, and that's what he's interested in.

The Pale King is just so pretty when he's all fluffed up with rage, fists clenched and wings trembling violently. Grimm can't help but wonder if he's blushing under that damn mask of his.

(Lurien, on the other hand, is just as fun to rile up. Grimm takes great pleasure in watching him fluff up violently. He tries so hard to be polite, to speak to Grimm as if he's not pissing him off, but the troupe master can still tell. The way his body language is just slightly too tight, slightly too sharp. Like he's an inch away from actually blasting Grimm with all of the soul he can muster. Grimm quite enjoys that. He does so like it when those he dances with are as dangerous as him.)

(Ambrosia and Lurien are just so pretty with all of their teeth on display. Grimm enjoys spending time with both of them. He's quite good at multitasking.)

The Pale King fluffs up in front of him, hissing dangerously, a low warning growl echoing within his chest. Grimm leans down and smirks, letting his gaze hood into something Brumm has told him is sexy. "Grimm," the Wyrm snarls, his voice getting the echoy effect that only shows up when he's Worked Up, "we suggest you remove yourself from Our personal space immediately."

Grimm's smirk widens. "But you're so adorable when you're all puffed up like this," he coos, making sure to add a wink in for good measure. Ambrosia does this full body twitch, drawing back slightly. Soul sparks around his fingers and then he's lashing out with a soul dagger, the blade whistling through the air.

Knives are usually a part of his routine, and Grimm catches it with casual ease. "Oh, how sweet of you to gift me something to remember you by."

Ambrosia twitches. Another soul dagger appears. Then another, and another, and another, until the entire area is spilling with light, hundreds of sharp blades aimed directly at Grimm.

Oops. Guess he pushed the Wyrm a little too far.

He teleports out of the way, smile slightly strained at the deep hole now dug into the gardens. Camellia isn't going to be happy about that one, especially with how close it is to the garden beds that she's been planting with Hallow.

One more blade forms, thin and made to be fast. Ambrosia waves it upwards, fingers tracing soul through the air. Grimm readies himself to teleport again, but the Wyrm pauses. Tilts his head to the side. Turns slowly so he's staring back into the palace. "A visitor," he murmurs, so soft that Grimm barely catches it. His wings sweep out, robes carelessly splitting open at the back, and takes to the air. 

Grimm curses him out and darts after, only catching up moments after Ambrosia is seated upon his throne, looking as regal and imperious as ever. He teleports onto the dais and leans against the nearby wall, crossing his arms and letting his gaze lid. Grimm has little to no interest in this meeting, though he does perk up a little when he realizes who has just arrived.

Lurien.

In his full Watcher persona.

Damn. 

He doesn't blush or react as prettily when he's just Lurien. Grimm goes back to ignoring what's going on, instead choosing to examine the bug collapsed in the arms of two guards. Soul Master, who is currently maskless. And judging by the shattered mandibles and hemolymph smearing his face, he didn't lose the mask willingly. 

Ambrosia leaps to his feet with a furious screech, striding off of the dais and landing in front of Soul Master's limp form. Grimm blinks, then is forced to abandon ship and bury his face beneath his wing when the Wyrm's light turns blinding. 

"A little warning next time, you motherfucker!" he snarls, the ancient tongue of dreams spilling out of his mouth. Grimm groans and rubs at his eyes, cursing all the while. He peers blearily at what remains of Soul Master, eyes widening as he watches Ambrosia incinerate the last four arms left behind.

Oh no. Oh, no no no no no. Gods, but Ambrosia is really gorgeous when he's all angry like this.

He glances quickly away, pinching at the soft flesh of his inner arm in an attempt to keep himself steady. Lurien is clearly affected the same way, he's shaking slightly where he's standing. But they're still talking, perfectly polite. Gods, but Grimm is disgustingly gone.

If Divine ever finds out, she's going to mock him mercilessly.

He can't ever let her find out. Not if he values his pride.

Grimm tunes back in to hear that, not only did a civilian stop Soul Master in his tracks, they did so by breaking his mask in a single kick. Huh, that's definitely an interesting fact. He'd been so certain that the only interesting bugs in Hallownest were in the palace.

Footsteps to the left catch his attention and Grimm glances over towards the door. Hallow peeks in shy, and gentle, and Ambrosia glances over as well. "Oh. Do you need something, my child?"

Hallow nods shyly and steps into the room. Grimm scoffs and glances away, only glancing back when he realizes that Lurien has gone dead silent. "Is something wrong, Watcher?" he sneers, taking the chance at an attempt to rile Lurien up.

Lurien chokes on his words, barely getting out the words. Grimm stills, eyes growing huge at the implications.

Hallow waves a hand to get their attention, shyly signing " _We actually wanted to talk about that._ "

So more of Ambrosia's children have not only survived, but also escaped the Abyss.

How beautifully poetic. Grimm cackles.

"Don't think you're exempt either, Troupe Master!" Lurien snaps, whirling to face him. "There was a, what do you refer to them as? A Grimmchild? There was a Grimmchild with them!"

Grimm _chokes_. 


	13. Hallow

There are no ghosts within the White Palace.

Or rather, Hallow does not consider themself a ghost anymore. 

(They once tried to refer to themself as an "it" in front of their father. They'd never seen him go through so many emotions at the same time. He'd very carefully sat them down and explained that they were a living bug, not an object, and that they should probably consider what pronouns to use. Mother had chipped in, telling them all about he and she and they. In the end, Hallow decided to use they. They didn't have a gender, after all. There was no desire or reason for them to choose anything else.) 

(In an attempt to learn to use they and them, Hallow takes to referring to themself as them in their head. It's hard. They constantly find themself defaulting back to it. But they're learning, and each time their father hears them use the pronouns, his light beams brighter in delight.)

(Some days, he's so bright mother has to remind him not to blind others.)

When they had first crawled out of the Abyss, climbed to the top to find out what that glittery light was, they'd abandoned a sibling to their death. Watched them struggle to hold onto the grate platform, turning their back and walking away. The door had slammed shut behind them, a heavy slam that shakes the ground, and part of them knows that their sibling as fallen.

Hallow locks that part away. They can't be anything else than hollow and empty. It's lonely without the whisper of the void in the back of their mind, but they eventually get used to it. They had to.

But now they don't. They can open the link again, can listen to the whispers and giggles of the void. Can feel its emotions and let it see what they have seen. Hallow can open themself up to the void like they used to be.

On any normal day, they'd be out in the garden with their mother, planting various herbs and flowers. But now they find themself sitting in their room, carefully nudging the connection with curious speculation. They'd blocked it years ago, but now they have to reopen it. Hallow breathes in slowly and reaches for it, knocking gently against the link and pulling it open.

There's silence on the other end. For a moment, Hallow worries that they've done something wrong. The stunned silence gives way and they're swept away by a wave of love. Void presses up against them, curling against their shell and surrounding them completely. It coos gentle welcomes into their mind; **_hello, hello, hello!_** it calls. 

Hallow returns the gentle nuzzle, projecting their joy down the link. **_We're sorry,_** they whisper, bowing their head slightly.

A feeling of stern disappointment sweeps down the link, followed by gentle acceptance. You have no reason to be sorry. Hallow doesn't understand. They left their siblings behind to die. Surely the void would be angry with them?

But it isn't. They don't understand.

The void sweeps up higher, pressing knowledge and understanding against their mind. Hallow blinks at the sweep of images, slowly parsing it out. They're not hearing just the void. They're hearing all of their siblings, those in shade and those in shell. 

There are more siblings down in the Abyss still. 

Void presses another image: a tall bug, maybe a little more so than themself, with eight gleaming eyes and eight large, pointed horns. There's a much smaller sibling within their arms, two eyes and four horns. _Ghost,_ the void whispers. **_The Ghost of Hallownest, Lord of Shades, God of Gods, Master of Dreams and Night and Void and Soul, slayer of The Radiance and The Nightmare King, spawn of Wyrm and Root and Void. Little Sibling Charm._ **

Hallow feels themself still at the title, feeling the words ring through them with a graveness they can't give word to. Master of Dreams and Night and Void and Soul. They should probably tell father. Scratch that, they definitely need to tell him.

(A memory flickers in their mind's eye. An arena glowing gold, a small ghost, and a fight that left them sore upon waking. Hallow dismisses it.)

Mother would know where father is. They uncross their legs and get to their feet, quickly heading to the door. The halls are empty currently and they turn towards the gardens. Mother should be there at this time, and hopefully she'll know where father is. 

She looks up at their arrival, her arms smeared with dirt. "Good morning, Hallow," she says, smiling gently. "Do you need something?"

" _Do you know where father is?_ " 

"In the throne room, I believe." Mother leans back on her heels, pausing. Hallow knows that she is wielding her power over nature, peering through the roots to see the world. "Yes, he's there." A satisfied expression settles over her face, vicious and satiated. "He's disposing of a traitor, but it's fine for you to enter."

Hallow winces. They've only seen an execution once and they never want to again. A part of them wonders who the idiot is, but they know that they can always learn that information later. For now, they have more important things to do. 

Their mother gets to her feet, gently pressing the chin of her mask against their forehead in a gentle farewell. Hallow ducks their face, embarrassed, and hurries out of the room. Even though it's been some time since father and mother began treating them like their child, they still aren't used to it.

Father's voice grows louder the closer they get to the throne room. He sounds incredibly angry, but is slowly calming down. Hallow peeks in. The Nightmare King leans against one wall, arms crossed and gaze hooded. He seems to be glaring at the bug standing and talking with their father. Why, they don't know.

Hallow peers a little closer. The Watcher from the City of Tears, they think. Lurien is his name, right? They don't really remember. Hallow may be an excellent swordsbug, but they're not exactly the best with names and titles. 

"Do you need something, my child?" Father asks. Hallow blinks. They hadn't realized they'd been spotted. With a nod, they cautiously step into the room, pushing back their cloak so they can sign. Watcher is staring at them, not even trying to hide his shock. 

They run over what they're going to say, only looking up when their father staggers back and collapses onto his throne. Grimm chokes, coughing as flame and smoke billows from his glowing throat. 

Hallow has the vague sensation that they missed something big.

A chirp escapes them. Father's head snaps up. "Oh, Gods," he breathes, absolutely horrified. "Please tell me you're not going to drop something on me, too."

" _We know who killed Radiance?_ " Hallow signs in return. 

Grimm's coughing turns into hacking. Lurien stills, sinking to the floor to bury his face in his robes. Father physically chokes and slumps against his chair, throwing a hand over his face. "That's it. We give up. We're going to go to bed and not come out for a year."

Hallow frowns and waves a hand. They're not done yet. Father peeks out from under his arm and groans again. Taking that as confirmation to continue, Hallow mercilessly adds, " _We want to see our siblings._ "

"God fucking dammit," Father mutters. Hallow winces. Not once have they ever heard him use language like that. Mother would kill them if they repeated it. Father heaves himself to his feet, staggering slightly, a hand pressed against his forehead like he has a headache. "Right. You're right. We need to open the Abyss."


	14. Ghost

Another lovely art done by [@TokyoTeddyWolf](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/635902678941270016/those-tears-on-your-cheeks-exposing-trauma-and). Y'all should go follow.

* * *

There is a ghost in the City of Tears.

Three of them, to be exact.

The biggest one is chasing a smaller one, a tinier flying ghost hovering in the air and cackling above them. Occasionally, the smallest ghost even spits out fire.

The cause of this concern is the small but not smallest ghost, who is chirping wildly and waving around a very sharp nail. Ghost just wants to get their hands on their tiny sibling, preferably before they stab someone who looks at them wrong.

Grimmchild cackles loudly above them, floating and dipping and twirling through the air, occasionally spitting bursts of flame that fizzle out in the puddles.

Charm squeaks loudly, indignantly, when Ghost manages to get all four of their hands on them. They bundle their sibling close, stealing the Pure Nail and slipping it into their void, and turn a threatening gaze onto Grimmchild.

The little one's head droops and he lets out a mournful chirp. " _Here. Now,_ " Ghost demands in sloppy one-handed signs. Another mournful chirp, this time on the edge of sad tears and begging eyes. Ghost isn't fooled for a second. " _Grimmchild,_ " they warn.

Their younger sibling wriggles out of their arms, landing in a puddle with a loud splash. Charm turns to face them both, hands slowly forming signs. " _Sibling named Grimmchild?_ "

Ghost frowns. " _Grimmchild is Grimm's child,_ " they return.

Charm shakes their head sharply. _"Our name isn't Wyrmchild."_ They cross their arms and scowl, projecting the emotion down the connection.

That. . . is an annoyingly good point. Ghost turns their gaze towards Grimmchild, now floating upside down. **_What do we call you?_** they wonder quietly.

They feel an answering nudge from Charm and turn to look down at them. Charm jumps up and down, flapping their hands. **_Fireball!_** they project as loud as their mental voice can go.

Ghost winces, a hand coming up to rub at their forehead. Grimmchild drops a solid foot out of sheer surprise, his wings flapping quickly to pull himself back up. **_We are not calling him Fireball._**

Grimmchild chirps reprovingly. Ghost wonders where he learned that tone. He spits flame at them and curls up on their shoulders. Ghost can feel that he's sulking and their shoulders shake with their laughter.

Charm makes a considering noise. Images flow down the link, of various shapes of fire they have seen on this trip. Small fires, lanterns, candle flames.

They pause, then chirp. The image of the candle fades, leaving behind the flickering flame. Grimmchild perks up. Ghost considers it. For an honorary Voidling, Flame is not a bad name at all.

**_Flame it is,_** they decide. Charm looks pleased. They can feel their sibling's internal victory dance and huff a fond laugh.

**_Where next?_** Charm asks.

Ghost hums. **_Return to Abyss. Nails will not be ready until later._** They lean down and let Charm scramble back up into their arms. Flame settles himself around their shoulders. Ghost leaps off the final cliff below the Nailsmith's place and pauses.

There is an opening in the wall.

They know where it leads.

Curses escape them before they can stop it, both old and new. Ghost ignores the intense urge to break something out of frustration.

How in the name of the void did they forget about the shortcut from the Junk Pit to the City of Tears?

At least getting back will be easier.

Crawling through the Royal Waterways in their adult form was an experience they're not exactly keen on repeating.

Ghost dislodges an arm from Charm and reaches up to press it against their mask. They can feel the building headache already. Charm, too small to actually reach, pats their chest in an attempt to soothe. **_Sibling upset?_**

**_Sibling forgot shortcut,_** Ghost returns dryly. **_We can avoid the Waterways._**

Charm makes a pleased noise. **_Return to void, see siblings!_** They bounce in Ghost's arms, clapping their hands.

A third voice filters through the void, slowly becoming more clear. Distinctly male and faintly rough, like smoke and flame. **_Siblings?_**

They tilt their face to look at Flame on their shoulder, a sinking sensation filling their chest. **_Grimmchild? Flame?_**

Flame chirps. **_Siblings!_** he exclaims through the void, nuzzling against the side of Ghost's neck.

He's not going to shut up now that he's figured out how to communicate, is he.

Ghost tilts their face down and gives Charm a reproving stare. They blink back innocently. Ghost isn't fooled.

The void shifts sideways, a sudden rush of welcoming and happiness. All three of them pause on the edge of the shortcut, tilting their heads as they puzzle out the newest addition to the void. Ghost, being the most familiar, figures it out first. It's their twin, finally prying open the link that has been closed for so long. They project their image down to the void, feeling the echo of their title.

Their twin's emotions shift to something determined. Ghost shudders at the feeling and pulls back. They need to return to the Abyss now.

Ghost gently pulls Flame from around their neck and bundles him with Charm. They ignore his complaints and then leap down into the shortcut. Air whistles around them as they fall, Charm screeching loudly and waving their arms. Aside from the two small Funglings that they deftly avoid, the trip is uneventful. Ghost bounds down to the pile of junk. They pause. Godseeker still waits there, bowing.

They poke her with their foot, repeating until she looks up. " _Go to the City of Tears,_ " they sign. " _The void will rise and you will die._ "

She hesitates, but nods. Slowly gets to her feet, spreads her wings, and flies up out of sight. Ghost can't help the sigh of relief that escapes them. No matter what happens, her death will not be on their hands.

Charm pokes them and Ghost sighs, then turns and leaps into the void. The black liquid swirls them away. Ghost keeps a firm grip on Charm and Flame, pressing their faces against their chest.

They launch themself out of the void at the Abyssal Beach, landing heavily on the stone. Flame complains loudly and Ghost lets go, watching as he floats upwards and shakes himself off. Charm leaps to the ground, shaking what void remains on their cloak off.

It takes Ghost a long time to realize that something is missing. The heavy, endless buzz of the magic keeping the door to the Abyss shut is gone.

Ghost stills, tilts their head to the side, and listens carefully.

There are voices within the Abyss.

They recognize one of them.

The gleaming light filtering through the darkness of the tunnel reveals who the other is.

Ghost lets out a hissing noise and strides forward, fists clenched at their sides. Their nail is heavy against their back and it's taking everything they have to not draw it. Charm scrambles to keep up, leaping over the small piles of horns that have spilled out of the main room.

Chitin crunches under their feet and they storm into the room, taking in the frozen occupants with a glance. Their eyes narrow dangerously.

Grimm has still midflight, his wings beating just enough to keep him aloft. He's staring at Flame, maskless face revealing his stunned shock.

The Pale King is kneeling before Lief, holding their hands in his own. He's clearly been talking to them. Ghost wonders what lies he's told.

They release a warning rumble, low and echoey in the cavernous main room.

Their father lets go of Lief's hands and gets to his feet, splaying his hands. He takes a step forward. Ghost's warning rumble grows louder.

"My dear child," he says, and he has the gall to sound concerned. "If I had known..."

Void coils along their feet, seeping up their torso. Ghost lets out a seething hissing noise. " _We are not your dear child,_ " they sign back.

The Pale King visibly winces. Ghost feels their anger boil upwards and they clench their fists. "That is understandable," he sighs out. "We have not done anything to prove to you we mean it."

Ghost grinds their jaw. Not done anything? Oh, he's done enough.

It's time they do something too.

They brace themself for but a moment, then lunge forward, fist pulling back. It's wreathed in visible soul, spilling out across their form in waves of white tinted faintly with orange.

Father recoils, but not fast enough.

Their fist connects with his masked face. Hard.

The mask shatters so easily under the blow, cracks striking up through the false shell until it crumbles away into pieces. Ghost's fist keeps going, making direct contact with the Pale King's face.

There is a sickening snap. Father's mandible breaks.

He's thrown backwards by the force of the blow, bouncing against the abandoned chitin and eventually rolling to a stop at the very edge of the room. He does not move. Ghost remains where they are, hunched over and snarling with rage. They straighten up, void projecting their malice, and whirl around, storming down the hall they originally came from. They have to leave now, before they hurt him even more. Ghost dives into the Void Sea and lets it whirl them away.

(What they do not know is this: when they punched their father, their void reacted. In their anger, they lost control over their form. Behind them, massive and glowing and looming dangerously was a visible reflection of their true form. God of Shade and Soul, Dreams and Night.)


	15. Camellia

No ghosts lie within the White Palace.

There is a Wyrm, a Root, and a Child, but no ghosts.

Camellia would like to think that they have it pretty good, to say the least. Ever since the news that Radiance had died, things had been rapidly improving. Hallow, while no longer a child, is happy to help her in the garden. They've proven a deft hand at choosing matching colors and patterns. And while they can't exactly talk when they're elbow deep in dirt, she finds that singing vastly improves their time together. Especially when Hallow gets so into it, that they start chirping along. Adorable, even if they always get embarrassed when they realize.

Today, however, she is by herself in the garden. Hallow had expressed a wish to do something else and had vacated the premises to their room. Ambrosia had been around a bit earlier, arguing with Grimm.

Oh, Grimm. How a bug so intelligent and powerful as her husband can miss another flirting with them for so long, she doesn't know. On one hand, it's immensely amusing for her. A wonderful source of entertainment. On the other hand, she just wants to throttle them both and chuck them into a locked room until they figure things out. And that's not even counting the whole Lurien situation.

(The idea that her husband seems to have attracted two tops makes her cry laughter. Camellia wishes both Grimm and Lurien would do something about it already. She's so tired of watching them repeatedly fail their attempts at flirting. Ambrosia is just an idiot when it comes to that sort of thing.)

White flares at the edge of her vision and she turns her head, watching as Ambrosia abandons Grimm to barrel into the palace on many gleaming wings. She can sense Lurien at the edge of the gates, his power fading away as the portal slowly vanishes. There are three with him. Camellia reaches a little further. Lurien is angry. His power is whipping around him, fury so deep she can feel it clearly even through her roots.

Oh dear.

Behind her are footsteps and she glances up. It's Hallow, and she smiles gently. "Good morning, Hallow," she says, smiling gently. "Do you need something?"

" _Do you know where father is?_ " They stare down at her and she huffs a laugh. 

"In the throne room, I believe," she returns and leans back on her heels, idly pressing a new plant into place. Ambrosia's angers spills over moments later, a furious sort of rage that matches Lurien's own. She nudges her roots closer, purring in pleasure when she finally pinpoints the unfortunate soul facing her angry husband.

Soul Master. Someone who has long since had this coming. Her smile widens when Ambrosia's light brightens, burning away the filth until nothing remains. She settles back onto her heels, smirking widely beneath her mask. This death has been a long time coming.

(Her roots tell her that Soul Master wouldn't be good fuel for the plants. For once, she can't begrudge her husband for burning him to pieces.)

"Yes, he's there. He's disposing of a traitor, but it's fine for you to enter."

Hallow visibly winces. She understands their feelings. They've always been a gentle soul at heart, and executing someone for treason has never been their favorite. Hallow has always preferred a good fight with a blade over a straight execution.

She gets to her feet and presses her chin against the forehead of their mask, singing a low series of notes. They chirp them back and then turn to head towards the throne room. Camellia settles back down in front of the garden bed, de-potting more flowers. A wild array of colors, all in various shades of white and blue and red. Maybe if she plants all of these, her husband will finally get the damn hint.

(Camellia is very, _very_ tired of trying to make him realize.)

A low hum escapes her as she plants, slowly making her way down the bed. Each flower is carefully inspected, then put in its place. Dirt is piled up, pots discarded to the side as she works.

Ambrosia coughs. Camellia glances up. Her husband looks like he's been hit by Hegemol's mace. His hands are shaking. She quickly wipes her hands off and moves to kneel in front of him, reaching her hands to grasp at his shoulders. Usually he complains about getting his robes dirty, but he doesn't say a word, instead pressing his face into her shoulder. "Dear Wyrm?" she asks, petting the back of his robes.

He makes a weak noise, choking on the words in his throat. "I. Dear Root, I-"

"Hush, dearest. Whatever it is, we can deal with as we always do."

Her husband _sobs_ , the words spilling from him. "Vessels in the Abyss. Survivors."

Camellia finds herself stilling. Oh. No wonder he's so upset. She finds herself tearing up as well and ducks her head, careful to not impale herself on his horns. "You're going to get them, I hope?" At his nod, she pulls back, looking him over. The mask hides his emotional state and he straightens up. "Then go open that door. I will put together rooms in the palace."

"In our wing?"

"Of course."

His wings buzz outwards and he quickly vanishes over the garden walls, likely going to meet up with the others. A quick glance through her roots reveals Hallow, Grimm, and Lurien. She gets to her feet and heads towards the palace, idly calling for the servants as she goes. They come easily and quickly, dropping into quick bows. "We have a lot of work to do," she says, feeling happiness swell in her heart at the thought of more children within the palace.

(Hornet may be a delight, but in the end she is still only one child. More will make the place more lively. And chaotic.)

At first she considers many rooms, one for each vessel, but then discards it. One of the servants suggests one large room off of Hallow's with a sleeping nest. If the vessels have only had each other, then surely they wouldn't care to be separated. Camellia finds herself agreeing with the logic and quickly starts giving instructions. Within moments servants are bustling about, airing out bedding and constructing the large base of the nest. She'll leave it up to the children to fill it with as many pillows and blankets as they like. Camellia, however, moves to calling upon the vines, pulling them in through the edges of the room and draping them across every surface. Flowers spill down in colorful tresses, filling the room with their gentle scent.

In the back of her mind, so focused that she is, Camellia is only vaguely aware of when the void spikes with a dangerous rage. She stills and turns her face to where the entrance of the Abyss lies. Her husband's light has gone dim. He's still alive, that much she can tell, but the Abyss muddles her connection to the roots.

Camellia heads towards the entrance of the palace. Something is wrong.


	16. Ambrosia

Another lovely image from [Tokyoteddywolf](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/636193281111392256/) and I love it so much! ~~You're not gonna love what I did to Ambrosia~~

Top left: Brook with Nail on their head and Shield to their left

Line of Vessels, left to right: Echo, Listen, Silence, Spark, Ember, Rain, Lief, Wing

Two on Hallow: Ashe in arms, Thorne on shoulder

* * *

There are ghosts in the Abyss.

There are hundreds of thousands of them.

Refuse and regret, left there to rot.

Oh, Ambrosia regrets it indeed. He still remembers sealing it shut behind him, hands shaking no matter how hard he tried to hide it. The door is heavy, glowing with the binding seal that streaks across its surface. The newly ascended Pure Vessel standing blankly at his side.

(No matter how hard he tries, he can still hear the horrible cracking sounds of his children crashing down. The noises haunt his dreams. Ambrosia will carry this guilt forever.)

But he has to open the Abyss. He has to fix at least one of the mistakes he's made. If he can give the remaining lives down there a better home, then he'll do it without hesitation. It's the least he can do.

The Abyss door looms in front of him and he swallows tightly. Grimm, for once, doesn't open his mouth. Instead he sidles in closer, wrapping an arm around Ambrosia's waist. "Do you want us to come with?" he asks, voice soft.

For once Lurien doesn't react to Grimm sidling in closer. Instead the butterfly stares up at the doorway, his own magic sparking at his fingers. "I don't like it here."

Ambrosia pushes Grimm away. "My dear Watcher, you'll have to stay up here. The void does not take kindly to those not of its kind."

Lurien hums. "That's fine, your majesty. I can stay up here for your return."

Grimm snorts. "I am a higher being. The void has nothing on the Nightmare God." He flares his wings and strides right up to the door, examining it closely. "Are you going to open this, Pale Wyrm?"

"Ah, yes." Ambrosia rustles his robes uncomfortably, but reaches a hand upwards. The seal on the door glows in response, cracking and shattering into thousands of pieces. It hits the ground, crumbling to dust, and he can immediately feel the void. Creeping and crawling and eternally hungry.

Together.

The void is quiet, rumbling with the joy of being free.

United under one mind.

Ambrosia steps into the dark and increases the light he's putting out. The walls glow with the amount he's giving off. Hallow presses close behind him, looking around quickly, nervously. Ambrosia doesn't blame them. Grimm slips in after, red eyes a beacon in the dark.

He considers the edge and then discards his upper set of robes, wings fanning out brightly. Grimm leaps off the edge and flaps his wings, gliding down into the darkness. Hallow hesitates at the ledge, peering down. "Do you wish to wait with Lurien?" Ambrosia finds himself asking, concern bubbling in his chest.

Hallow shakes their head and leaps down. Their nail flashes in the light as they plummet down, bounding from platform to platform. Getting up will not be nearly as easy, that much Ambrosia can tell. But their child is determined and he will not begrudge them this.

The Pale King. Ruler of all of Hallownest. God of Knowledge and the Mind. Fearful of what he will find in the darkness. Ambrosia is stalling. He breathes in, braces himself, and leaps off of the edge.

Darkness immediately surrounds him, recognizing the faint taint of the void he still carries even years after the experiments. Ambrosia spreads his wings wider, passing around the spikes lining platforms and gliding down in a slow circle until he reaches the bottom.

Grimm and Hallow are already waiting, the Nightmare King floating above the floor. Ambrosia forces himself to look down, to stare at all of the broken and ruined chitin littering the floor. He carefully reaches down, gingerly picking it up. It crumbles almost immediately in his grip and Ambrosia heaves a soft sob.

Hallow tilts their head, slowly looking around the room, at the piles and piles of shells. Hundreds of thousands of ruined chitin and broken masks, all of them glaring judgmentally in Ambrosia's direction. He closes his eyes, wings folding and tucking away. Grimm huffs and slowly turns his gaze, burning red eyes casting shadows even in the glow of Ambrosia's light.

A chirp escapes Hallow, loud and echoing in the depths of the Abyss. Another one, this time even louder. They're calling for something, Ambrosia realizes, heart rising up to wedge in his throat.

There's an answering chirp, somewhere behind them, coming from one of the piles of shells and masks. Ambrosia spins, robes spilling outwards, and he feels like he can't breathe. There's a baby vessel peeking over the top of the mound, all tiny mask and stubby horns. Four small horns, little crownlike growths oh so similar to his own.

Camellia is going to laugh herself sick at the sight of the little crown.

They chirp in return, gaze locked onto Hallow. Hallow tilts their head to the side and chirps again, watching carefully. The little vessel tumbles down the hill, scattering mask and chitin, rolling to a halt at the bottom. They shake their head rapidly, then bound to their feet and scramble across the distance to plaster themself against Hallow's leg.

For a long moment there's nothing more than the two of them chirping back and forth. Ambrosia watches, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Eventually, now satisfied, the tiny vessel turns and looks out across the void of discarded broken shells. They chirp, loud and clear.

Instantly, more heads pop up, chirps echoing in return, until there's more vessels. They're tumbling down the hills and piles, bouncing around and waving their arms and chirping as loudly as they can get. Hallow bends down a little, two of the vessels slamming bodily into them, and the Pure Knight gets to their feet, one in arm and the other on their shoulder.

Ambrosia drops to his knees, waiting patiently for one of the vessels to approach him. Tears are welling at the edges of his eyes, catching on the rim of the mask, and he chokes on his words.

A small vessel, one with two horns on each side of their mask, curiously takes his hands and inspects them. "I'm so sorry," Ambrosia whispers, low and soft. "I came as soon as I knew." His chest heaves, sucking air in almost desperately. "I never meant for--" Ambrosia cuts himself off when the little one chirps at him, getting up on tiptoe to trustingly nuzzle at his face.

Like he used to do with his own parents when he was but a child.

Guilt crushes his heart between its massive hands.

Void roars upwards, swirling around the room with glee. Ambrosia freezes.

Footsteps echo within the shadows.

He turns, towards where the lighthouse once was, and feels himself still at the sight of a much larger vessel. They're taller than even Hallow, who has gone still and quiet in their corner. Grimm makes a choking noise somewhere behind him, but he ignores it.

Ambrosia gently lets go of the little one's hands, slowly rising to his feet.

The new vessel rumbles dangerously, massive nail gleaming on their back. There's a smaller vessel at their side, hiding behind them. The void echoes the rumble, dangerously, and around him the vessels scatter like vengeflies.

"My dear child," Ambrosia finds himself saying, taking a step forward. The rumbling grows louder. Guilt clogs his throat. "If I had known. . ."

Void coils along their feet, seeping up their torso, making their cloak shiver and shake. They let out a seething hissing noise. " _We are not your dear child,_ " they sign at him, their hands sharp and quick. Anger and hatred and everything in between.

He winces internally. That's fair. And quite reasonable, considering what he's done to the other children here. "That's quite understandable. We have done nothing to prove to you that we mean it."

That's clearly the wrong thing to say. The vessel stiffens tightly. They brace themself for but a moment, then lunge forward, fist pulling back. It's wreathed in visible soul, spilling out across their form in waves of white tinted faintly with orange. Behind them, a shadow of void grows, eight massive endlessly glowing eyes spilling out across the walls. Tendrils and sharp horns, and a detailed crown that only the holder of the Dream Heart can have.

Ambrosia recoils, hands coming up to form a shield. Anything.

He's not fast enough.

(Perhaps he feels like he deserves whatever justice his child can dish out.)

Their fist connects with his masked face. Hard. Ambrosia can feel the force put behind the blow, the way it shatters his mask so easily and sends him flying back. Pain spikes immediately, the shards digging into the soft flesh of his face. His mandible snaps with a sickening crack.

His body is thrown backwards, hitting the floor and bouncing. Ambrosia barely keeps from howling in pain as his arm is caught, then his wings. Pain spikes through him, even as he bounces once, then twice, then smashes into the wall. Ambrosia slumps to the ground, completely stunned, and just lies there, breathing raggedly.

Faintly, he can hear the hurried rush of footsteps and then the roar of the void.

He lies there, only half conscious, and tries not to cry. Deep inside, no matter how much he wants to deny it, he knew this would happen. His children have every right to be angry at him, no matter how much he's trying to do better.

A hand presses up against his face, now bared to the Abyss. Ambrosia opens an eye. His glow has gone out, the shadows dark and deep, but he doesn't need light to recognize Grimm. "Blood and Flame," the Nightmare King breathes, kneeling beside him. "Dear Ambrosia, are you all right?"

Too much pain to respond, no matter how much he wants to. His chest feels like it's been crushed. He can barely breathe.

Ambrosia passes out.


	17. Ghost

A void-touched Flame delivered by the lovely Ghostdoze!

* * *

There is a ghost in the Junk Pit.

This ghost is crawling out of the pit of void, too emotionally destroyed to land properly upon the pile. They collapse upon it, chest heaving, struggling to scrub away the void seeping out of their mask. Ghost is sobbing, choking on the air they're frantically sucking in and out. Gods. They thought they were over this, that seeing their father wasn't going to send them into an emotional spiral.

And yet.

Here they are, half curled up on the floor, sobbing their heart out.

The void sea thrashes and boils with each choked sob. Ghost curls in further upon themself, their form flickering in their distress. Tendrils of void snake off of their mask, eyes opening and closing within the darkness of their chitin. Their mask cracks at the bottom, jaw lowering to better heave in air.

They don't know how long they cry for, but darkness slowly creeps in around the edges. 

A low, mournful chirp comes from beside them, something pressing up against their side. They lift their head slowly, dropping it back down when the headache proves too much. Their form is fraying at the edges, wisps disappearing in front of their eyes. Ghost drags themself back together, repairing the black chitin where it has shattered.

(They should give themself proper insides like any other bug. It seems less annoying than void.)

Ghost uncurls slowly, turning to look what is curled up against them. It's Flame, and the Grimmchild gives them a soft, mournful chirp. He nuzzles up closer, pressing his face against Ghost's mask. _Sibling sad,_ he whispers, and Ghost reaches out hands to pull him closer. They press their chin against the top of his head and sniffle quietly. Every single emotion is projected through the void. They don't think they could hide it even if they tried.

They still immediately at the thought, the realization making their void turn to ice.

Oh. Oh no. They're projecting their emotions through the void. Ghost stiffens, their grip tightening. Flame squeaks in complaint but they barely register it, instead reaching out to the void itself. Ghost grabs the connection, open so wide their every emotion is projected through, and slam it shut. They poke it carefully, making sure that only the thoughts they desire to send will go through, and then relax.

Flame wriggles out of their grip and spits fire in their face. **_Tight! Too tight!_** he complains loudly. Ghost reaches out and scratches behind his horns, feeling a smile cross their mouth at the sight of him settling down and purring.

A thought occurs to them. They vaguely remember seeing Grimm down in the Abyss. Could he be pacified the same way? They purposefully project the thought to Charm, whispering for an answer to their question.

**_Will try for sibling,_** Charm chirps in return, **_if you tell why link close?_**

They cringe but heave a sigh. **_Projecting too many emotions. We may hate Sire, but we do not get to choose that for you._**

Charm sends the sensation of confusion and then the image of a large room. Ghost tilts their head to the side, slowly puzzling it out. It looks like a room in the White Palace. A nest is in the center of the room, a bunch of vessels draped across each other, resting and peaceful.

**_Is that where you are?_** Ghost asks, confused. The last time they had checked, their siblings were down in the Abyss still. Where they had left them.

After they'd punched their father in the face.

**_The big bug with the red eyes did a puff and we were at the top!_ Charm exclaims, waving their arms excitedly. _Right after he left with the glowy pale one first._**

Ghost ponders that info. Grimm teleported them out, huh. They still at the realization that the Nightmare King had been forced to teleport out first with the Pale Wyrm. That he hadn't been able to leave the Abyss on his own, even though they know he has wings.

Surely. . . Surely they didn't hit him that hard, did they? Did they?

Charm responds to the question by going quiet and fading out once they're no longer focused. Ghost pulls back from the connection, shifting to wave one of their lower hands to Flame. He wings in closer as they pull out the map. Ghost lays it out flat, spreading it across their lap. Flame settles beside them, draping his head onto a thigh so he can see it. They trace out a path, idly pressing their thoughts through the void connection.

**_Perhaps here?_** Ghost asks, tapping a spot somewhere deep within Kingdom's Edge. They had been meaning to go and check on that area, if only out of idle curiosity. Markoth, Oro, Tiso, so many bugs that had been in that area. 

Flame peers down at it and shakes their head, chirping. They drape a tendril onto the Mantis Village and Deepnest. **_Sister!_** they exclaim, pressing the desire to meet her through the link. They'd never had a sibling before, having always been a single child of the Ritual. No more. Now they have many siblings to play with!

They lean back a little and think about it. Hornet wouldn't be that big right now, probably no older than a few years at most, and it makes sense that Flame would want to play with someone a little closer to his size. Ghost considers the combination of Hornet and Flame, then shudders. Fire and a child's nail, all combined with the horrible terrible ideas that only a toddler can have. 

While they can allow Hornet and Flame to meet, there will be zero unsupervised playtime. Ghost does not want to be chased down by an angry Herrah after Flame has accidentally, very much on purpose, burned down half of the Distant Village. Not happening, thank you very much.

Ghost folds up the map and presses it back into its pocket on the inside of their cloak. They get to their feet, Flame hurling himself upwards. He scrambles up the fabric to settle himself around their shoulders, happily spitting out a burst of flame once he's in position. Ghost hums softly, idly turning to where they can reach the shortcut leading into the City of Tears. 

Mantis Village does sound like a good idea, especially if it means they don't have to think about their father or anything else for a while. They're halfway up the shortcut when Charm reaches out to them through the link, shoving an image into their mind before retreating swiftly. Ghost stumbles, almost tripping off of a ledge.

Their father lies in a bed, surrounded by healing spells, and oh so very still.

(They hit him too hard.)


	18. Interlude: Charm

There are many, many, many ghosts within the Abyss.

They are used to it. These ghosts are their siblings, after all. There's something familiar, almost comforting, about having these shades around. A constant companion, an understanding that they will never be alone, no matter what happens. 

Admittedly, they're still unsure about their eldest sibling. They had left the Abyss only a few days earlier, bitter and no bigger than the rest of them. They'd picked their way through the kingdom, eventually reaching the furthest point where they could just barely sense them. 

And then they vanished. The connection cut, the link silent. No emotions could be felt, no thoughts transferred. Gone. Like they'd never existed in the first place. 

Yet, they'd soon reappeared. Far up to the right but still here. Still within the confines of Hallownest. Their emotions were turbulent, bitter and angry with endless grief. No matter how they reach, their soothing reassurances are not felt. They do not know what their sibling has gone through to make them this angry and upset, but they wish they could soothe them. 

Sibling travels swiftly through the kingdom and they track them, tilting their face up towards the ceiling of the Abyss. There is something angry beneath their shell, their void rolling but there is no intent. Rage with no direction. 

At least, there isn't a direction until sibling finds something they don't like. Their void goes perfectly still, frozen down to their core. Then it boils over, the sheer amount of furious rage forcing them to retreat. They can feel their sibling as they storm through the kingdom, all the way down to a point that's so close to the Abyss. 

Then sibling vanishes again. 

Completely. 

Like mist from a morning fog, something they've only seen from the vaguest memories of a sibling. They can no longer feel them, despite knowing that they'd been there only moments ago. Their anger bleeds out of the void, leaving them feeling strangely off. They hadn't realized they'd been so affected by sibling's anger until now. 

The void swells upwards some time later, crushing the lighthouse that _burns burns burns_ like it's nothing. It sweeps across the area, coating the floors with its power. They find themself shaking at the sensation. All of the siblings that have returned to the Abyss are sucked into it, pulling them inwards until they can no longer feel them. 

United under one mind.

Sibling has returned. 

They peek over a pile, staring out into the darkness of the dead lighthouse. Sibling's anger is full of grief, even as the massive shade slowly drags itself out of the Void Sea. They duck down a little, using a hole in a broken mask to peer at the figure rising from the void. 

Thousands of eyes spill across their form as they haul themself up the shore. A mouth opens into glittering teeth, just as endless as the tendrils spilling across their form. They're massive, so big that they can barely see the top of the being. The eyes slowly close, one after the other, until there are only eight left, centered in the face surrounded by many horns. Spikes jut from their shoulders, large and sharp, one on each side and the third behind the head. They look like a mockery of the symbol on the door, only three instead of four. Void drips down their shoulders, spilling away until they can barely see what looks like fluff surrounding their throat. 

The massive sibling raises their head and keens, sounding broken and lost and full of endless grief. Vessel ducks down. They watch as large sibling presses their maskless face against the mounds of chitin and shells, glowing eyes sliding closed as they mourn. 

They make a decision. One of their sibling shades floats nearby, with horns like woven branches, and they wave them closer to sibling. Little shade drifts down to sibling and they peer down long enough to make sure it's well before darting out into the main room.

**_Siblings!_** they chirp, high and pitched, and watch as several heads pop over the mounds. **_Big sibling's back! Sibling sad._**

Darkness spills down the hall, void flowing into the room, and vessel immediately moves to hide behind a pile. Massive sibling slides into the room on the black fluid, tiny sibling floating beside them. They both halt at the edge of the room and shade sibling floats off into the distance. Vessel frowns. They don't know who shade sibling is going to get, but large sibling settles down. Sibling is even bigger up close and they watch as the massive hands reach into the air. The eyes narrow slowly in focus and a glowing ball appears in the air, slowly sinking until they can catch it. It gets tossed from side to side, bouncing from upper hands to lower hands and then back again. 

Vessel watches it with keen interest, then remembers that they're supposed to be hiding and ducks back down a little further. Shade sibling floats back into view, a few of the older shelled siblings following close behind. Lief, Brook, and the other set of living triplets, little vessel notes. Shade sibling floats up to the eight-eyed sibling and tap their arm, floating back and away. 

The glowing ball doesn't vanish. It crashes to the ground out of their hands, scattering a brilliant white light across the Abyss. Sibling stares at the smaller vessels, and then sinks to the ground slowly. Their hands reach out, hesitating. Lief steps forward and chirps. Vessel can hear it even across the distance. 

Massive sibling makes a choking noise and sobs, massive black tears splashing down from their eyes. They reach properly this time, scooping the six vessels in front of them and pressing them to their chest. Grief thunders through the void, heavy and overwhelming, and Vessel shudders at the keening sound that echoes through them. 

Whatever sibling has been hurt by, it's bad. Bad enough to tear at their heart and throat, bad enough to make Vessel shake with the call.

Lief turns their face and chirps. **_Come, come, come!_** they call. Vessel scrambles down over the top of the pile and joins the hug, climbing onto sibling and nuzzling their face against them. The rest of the shelled vessels appear from the mounds and crawl across their sibling's massive form.

**_Alive, alive, alive,_** echoes through the connection. Vessel doesn't know why their sibling is so affected, but they're not going to question it. 

The pile of vessels draped across sibling purrs in response to their grief. **_Sibling, sibling, sibling,_** Lief whispers in greeting.

**_Sibling,_** the massive one returns, softly. Like they can't believe what they're seeing. They croon, high and joyful. **_We are Ghost._** Vessel gets the image of a ruined kingdom, a shadow, a shade. A mere memory of what once was. They chirp a greeting and turn to watch Brook attempt to scramble across Ghost's side. 

Lief leans in a little, pressing their mask against Ghost's face. **_My name is Lief,_** they whisper. Vessel wishes they had a name they could give. But those remaining within the Abyss had been naming themselves off of what memories they could get from those who escaped. Little fragments and snippets. A cloak, a building, a stone pillar. Greenery and branches and blooms full of life and color. 

Vessel hasn't found a name for themself yet. They will. Eventually. 

One of others scrambles across Ghost's massive back. Amusement rumbles through the void, an eye appearing upon Ghost's side to peer closer at their small sibling. **_Does sibling have a name?_**

A rush of water, a bubbling fall of crystal clear liquid. Of rivers and streams and pools filled to the brim with crystal clear rain. A babbling brook.

Ghost blinks slowly, eyes opening and closing along the length of their body. It's oddly interesting to watch. **_Brook?_** they ask, almost unsure. 

Brook nods rapidly, practically bouncing on sibling's back. They chirp happily, nonsense sounds that hold no meaning but expressing joy. **_Yes, yes, yes._** The force of their nodding makes them lose their grip. Brook tumbles off of Ghost and their massive head swings around, an empty hand catching them before they hit the ground. Lief makes a sound like a sigh and Brook bursts into chirping laughter.

Their massive sibling bends down slowly, letting all of them scramble off of their back, and turns to stare up at the top of the Abyss. Where the door sits, blocking them all off from the outside world. Vessel can feel the muted rage that burns through Ghost and tilts their head to the side. **_Do you want out?_** they ask, projecting the sensations of freedom and fresh air on chitin. Of exploration and meeting new people. Of new friends and old stories.

**_Is it safe?_** Lief asks in return, tilting their head to the side. Their sibling pauses at that, blinking. 

They move a hand up to lean their chin on it, and images flicker through the link. A glittering sharp nail that they want to get their hands on. Items they've never seen before but now know are called charms.

Ghost stills at one of those charms, then it appears in their hands. Glittery and shiny with a gleaming white face and brilliant red horns. The eyes set within the charm glow with an inner fire. They like that charm, they decide. 

Sibling, however, seems distressed by it. They lean over their siblings and poke at the masks. A question filters through the void, a desire to change their shape and become shell once again. Lief sends a confirmation back, that this shell is empty and fine to use. Sibling pours themself into it, all dark shadows spilling into dark shell. The mask shifts, forming across their face, and eight gleaming eyeholes are carved into chitin and then filled with a white light that fades. A cloak spills down Ghost's shoulders and Vessel leans in with interest. 

The charm is pinned upon their chest. Fire flares up, a burst of red that vanishes, and a much smaller being is there. The void purrs its welcome, pressing against them. They can feel the newcomer, as faint as it is. Images flicker. A tall bug with red eyes and a glorious red cape. The sensation of pride and protection. Sibling, a new one, the youngest of all of them. So small, no more than a baby, but old enough to know who they are. 

Fire sibling pounces upon Ghost, slamming into them with all the force of a lunge. He drapes himself across sibling's shoulders, chirping and spitting out glittering light. Ghost rests a hand against his back, petting him, chirp laughing. 

Lief approaches them first, clearly hesitant, and Ghost turns to face them, kneeling so they can see their sibling a little better. They're so much taller than the rest of them. Vessel wishes they'd go back to petting their head. **_Sibling?_** Lief asks. **_Who is that?_**

Ghost hums. **_This is Grimmchild,_** Ghost tells them. The title, or is it a name, comes with memories of fire and flame, dreams and nightmares. **_His father is Grimm, the God of Nightmares and Flame._**

He is not a pronoun that the vessels use, but this sibling has chosen to use it. Vessel doesn't know how they feel about that, if they're being honest, but they can agree. This Grimm seems a little odd. But then again, so are all of them. They're vessels, meant to not exist.

No mind to break, no soul to twist, no voice to cry suffering. 

( ** _No cost too great,_** echos in their mind. Ghost's anger spikes for but a heartbeat.)

**_You asked if it was safe?_ **

**_We would like to see it,_** Lief admits. _**The way you've described it sounds wonderful.** _

**_No,_** sibling says. **_It isn't safe._** The vessels slump slightly. Images flicker through the void, of creatures that Vessel has never seen before. Things with teeth and mouths and sharp spikes and parts that go boom in loud orange bursts. They don't like those. 

(Orange is bad. That much they figured out within moments of crawling out of their eggs.)

They reach into their void and pull out the small nail, no longer than their forearm. Vessel finds themself creeping forward, entranced by the shininess of its metal. Ghost stabs it into the ground, then stands and reaches into a glowing seal. A much larger nail appears, a similar design but many times its size. They stab that one, too, into the floor and cross their arms. **_One can take this and come with us. We will go to the Nailsmith in the City of Tears and ask for more._**

Brook immediately leaps at the chance. Vessel winces. Brook is not a fighter. Less so than any of them. They don't even care for violence. **_I want to go,_** Brook whispers. The void carries images of golden honey and buzzing. _**Sibling told us when a Guardian killed them. Said honey was wonderful. Want to go, want to taste, want to see myself.**_

Ghost shrugs and bends to pick up the small nail, handing to to Brook handle first. Vessel pointedly moves out of the way. It's rather telling that they're not the only one doing so. Brook has handled weapons before and it has not gone well at all. Lief cackles when Brook swings it around, and Ghost immediately reaches to take the weapon from them. **_Never mind,_** they think dryly. **_We'd like a sibling who knows how to not stab themself._**

**_Hey!_** Brook interjects to the laughter of the other vessels. They scowl and cross their arms, but the void reveals that they're not mad. Sibling Ghost immediately projects some sort of creature. A white mask, a bloated orange underbelly, and three terrible projectiles that hurt upon contact. Even worse, it flies. 

Vessel immediately dislikes it. They're not the only one apparently, as Ghost's dislike of them trickles through the void. They watch Brook wilt miserably then step forward, tugging at sibling's cloak. Ghost glances down at them, seeming to see them for the first time. Vessel sidles in a little closer, nudging their mask under a free hand. Sibling gently pets their head. Vessel purrs. **_We know how to fight a little. At least, we think we can manage better than Brook._**

Sibling spins the nail thoughtfully and then moves it so Vessel can take it. They wrap their hand around the hilt and carefully swing it, feeling the way it moves. Ghost nods, looking pleased. Lief cackles wildly in the background and Vessel sends them a glare. 

Lief is not going to ruin this for them. Or they're just going to have to drown their elder sibling in the void sea.

**_Come, come, come,_** Ghost whispers, turning to head back into the room with the ruined lighthouse. **_We know a path._** Vessel blinks and trots after them, shiny nail in hand. They follow easily, right to the edge of the sea, blinking up at their elder sibling. Ghost passes memories onto them, faint images of tunnels filled with water, wading through the deep liquids to end up in a place filled with tall buildings. Of the place they need to go within what Vessel thinks is called a city. 

Oh, how fun! Vessel bounces in place, thinking of hiding and sneaking. Ghost glances down at them and huffs a laugh. **_We are not stealthy, little sibling,_** they project idly. **_Our size does not allow it._**

They glance up at Ghost and frown. That's fair. Sibling is so much bigger than them, they don't even come up to Ghost's knees, even with all of their horns. Vessel doesn't think they could hide very easily, not the way they can. 

**_We will walk in the light like anyone else,_** Ghost returns, and they can feel sibling's laughter. Vessel scrambles to keep up with them, chirping their agreement. **_But first, we need a name for you._**

Vessel goes still, then frantically glances around. There has to be something they can name themself after, anything that will work. The small glitter of the Grimmchild charm on Ghost's chest catches their eyes. They make a split second decision. 

**_Uh,_** they return, utterly resigning themself to this. **_Our name is Charm!_**

Amusement pours down the link and Ghost huffs. **_Charm,_** they repeat, barely keeping from laughing. **_All right, then. This way, Charm._** They're definitely trying to not laugh at Charm, but whatever. They suppose they've earned it with that name choice. Not exactly the best decision they've ever made. 

Well then. If they're going to have to go down, they're taking their eggmates with them. **_We have two siblings!_** they exclaim projecting the image of a set of three hatched from a single egg. **_We name siblings Nail and Shield to match._**

(In the back of their mind, their siblings shriek their rage. They're just going to have to deal with it.)

**_Sure,_** Ghost agrees. **_But you have to tell them._**

Charm winces. Their siblings are going to attempt to smother them in cold void for this as soon as they return. In fact, they should probably leave before their matching set tries to stab them. **_How do we leave?_**

Ghost peers down at them. **_Like this,_** they say, a hand snatching Charm up by the back of their red cloak. Charm screeches, squirming in their grip, and almost inhales too much void when they're suddenly below the surface of the sea. The void sweeps them along, swirling and whirling. Ghost bundles Charm to their chest, spinning around.

They hurl themself out of the void, landing on a place that Charm has never seen. There's so much stuff, all piled up into mountains. They leap down and poke at the piles, only stopping when sibling reaches to take the nail, hooking it onto Charm's back. They touch the handle, but don't draw it again.

Someone else is there. A strange bug half crouched, half curled, with a face hidden by gold. Charm pushes themself closer to Ghost, watching with wide eyes as the stranger shrieks and bows to their sibling. Ghost heaves a noise, chest puffing air. Their upper set of hands folds into a strange set of signs, but the stranger does not react. 

**_What is she doing?_** Charm asks, reaching to tug at their sibling's cloak. 

Sibling reaches up a hand and presses it against their mask. **_Nothing important,_** they sigh. Charm chirps soothingly at them, scrambling to hug their leg. Sibling is upset and they can't do anything to stop it. Ghost does something because the stranger winces violently, flinching back. Whatever it is, Charm can't feel it. But it upsets sibling further, because they scoop them up and leap upwards towards an entrance. 

The tunnels are filled with water, though, and they're the funnest thing Charm has ever come across. They bounce happily through the puddles, splashing them viciously. The chirping noises of complaint Sibling makes every time they have to crawl through particularly narrow spaces are even better.

(Is Charm a little vindictive from the naming incident? Maybe.)

Ghost makes a sound that's particularly upset and Charm glances up at them. Sibling is glaring at the wall they're currently face to face with. Charm giggles. Sibling is going to have to crawl again. Ghost's hands form into signs, but this time they know them. Charm tilts their head. 

The void is useful for many things. Passing images and also information. While they may not understand sign very well, they can at least communicate with it. " _Ghost going to have to crawl again?_ "

A feeling of immense disgust rolls down the link but sibling doesn't move. Charm waits for them for a moment, huffing when their elder sibling doesn't move. They turn their face down the tunnel and hum for a moment. If their sibling isn't going to make the choice, then clearly Charm will just have to do it for them. They start walking. Behind them, Ghost makes a loud noise of complaint but eventually Charm hears a splash. A quick glance behind shows their sibling on their knees, head ducked to keep their massive horns from scratching against the roof of the tunnel. 

Eventually it opens up enough for sibling to stand comfortably and Charm chirps to let them know. Ghost sighs in relief and gets to their feet, slowly stretching. They clearly do not like this area, not that Charm can blame them. 

There's a hole in the ceiling above them. Ghost leaps upwards, cloak fanning out to reveal more than just wings. There are almost tendril like wings spread out among the shining white ones. Gleaming with tints of gold and glittering with light. Their sibling pokes their head upwards, hands clinging to the edge of the hole for a moment. 

They drop back down a moment later, shaking their head. " _No luck,_ " Ghost signs. They point back towards a tunnel that drops to a lower level. " _Guarded._ " 

Charm nods happily. They don't mind being in the tunnels as long as they can jump in the water. Their elder sibling strides to the edge and crouches slightly, peering down into the darkness. A moment later, they jump and land without a sound. Charm scurries over to look down. 

A chirp sounds the all clear and Charm, without hesitation, hurls themself over the edge with a shriek of delight. The sheer regret flowing through the void a moment later is absolutely worth the scolding Ghost gives them for attracting things to their position. 

Flukemon, as Ghost later tells them, are horrible things. It barrels out of the darkness towards them, making these terrible noises. Sibling slices it in half with ease, then dispatches the two parts that come alive. Charm is certain that they'll never forget that sound. Ever. They know they never want to hear it again. 

Another thing that Charm never wants to experience is that smell. Whatever it is, it's terrible. They grab onto Ghost, burying their face into sibling's cloak. Ghost hurries forward and then dashes. It's a burst of speed, the familiar swirl of the void, and then they're at the end of the hallway. Charm peers out of sibling's cloak, blinking up at the massive room that pushes up into the darkness above them. They don't know where it leads, but sibling seems to. They're already in motion, wings fanning out as they leap from platform and platform. 

The ground drops further and further away from them and Charm peers over their sibling's arms, watching as the darkness swallows where they had once been. Grimmchild chirps and spits out flame occasionally, lighting up their path. 

(A thought occurs to them. Grimmchild is an odd name. It sounds like a title more than anything else. Charm considers it and the images and names sibling had accidentally projected to them. They're not a Wyrmchild, right?)

Their hood flops over their face. Charm reaches up to to grab at it, peering up at their sibling. Ghost gently sets them down and quickly glances around, then drags their own hood up. "Follow," they sign, then carefully tucks Grimmchild deeper into their hood. Charm touches a hand against the nail on their back, then trots after. Sibling seems to know where to go and Charm trusts that they'll get there safely. 

It's the shout that startles them out of their glancing around, peering at all of the different buildings and places. Charm jerks, chirping in surprise, and ducks back behind Ghost's legs. Sibling's head has snapped up, gaze focused on something in the distance. 

There is someone hurtling towards them.

A wave of pure hatred spikes through the void, and a second later sibling is gone. They appear in front of the strange bug, whirling through the air to kick them as hard as they can. Charm watches with huge eyes as Ghost vanishes again, kicking the bug into the ground so hard it shakes. They stumble and chirp loudly, dragging their sibling's gaze back to them. Ghost hisses at the downed bug but trots over to their side, pushing Charm behind them. 

"By the Gods," someone whispers. Charm peers up at them from their position of safety. Taller, with a mask featuring a single eye and a cloak that covers everything. Charm turns their gaze to the downed bug, rushing forward with a giggle to poke at their face. They can't believe their sibling broke a mask so easily. 

(What incredible strength. Sibling can definitely protect them. Lief will be relieved to know this.)

Ghost strides forward and grabs them, bundling their much smaller form against their chest. Charm chirps in response, sending a greeting to the one-eyed mask bug. They like them, no matter the fact that the cloak covers everything. 

Something about their presence is soothing.

Charm chirps a goodbye as the cloaked bug turns to speak to the newcomers, two bugs in heavy armor, and Ghost immediately takes the chance to leave. They hum a soft warning to Charm, stay down stay quiet, and quickly leave the area. Grimmchild chirps from where he's perched within Ghost's cloak when a strange bug gets too close, but sibling reaches up and presses a hand against his face. **_No,_** they project through the void. A sharp rebuke. 

**_Why not?_ **Charm asks. 

Sibling heaves a sigh. **_You can murder anything that attacks us when we leave the city,_** Ghost promises with a whisper. Charm immediately perks up at the idea. They've been wanting to use the gleaming, shiny nail, but have not had the chance yet. It would look so pretty, slicing through the air. 

The ground of what is a city turns into some other sort of soil. Charm peers down at it in interest, curious. Sibling strides across it without hesitation, easily fanning their wings to fly up to where a house is. There's a fire inside, smoke coming out of the top. Ghost pulls free a single hand and knocks at the door, then ducks inside. **_Please behave,_** they think firmly. 

Charm chirps in begrudging acceptance. **_Sibling do talking?_** they ask. **_Will sibling need arms?_**

**_We may need our hands, yes._** They project their amusement and huff a laugh. Charm blinks at the darkness and leaps down onto the floor as soon as they can see it. There's a very big bug hitting what looks like a nail. Charm chirps in greeting, scrambling across the floor so they can see what the bug is doing up close. Sibling and the bug are talking, and Charm uses the time to examine the nail with curious intensity. It's not quite like the one they have, but it's very pretty and very shiny. They find they like it just as much. 

Ghost chirps at them and Charm turns to look. They make a gesture with their hands and Charm pauses, then reaches to pull the nail off of their back. The big bug takes it carefully, examining it. Charm goes back to peering at the shiny liquid in another pot. It's gleaming almost red, radiating heat. They want to touch it, but know better than to do so. They peer at the tools lining the walls, reaching up to touch one. 

Behind them, the big bug makes a loud choking noise. Charm turns slowly, peering up at them. Their nail is sitting beside them and they reach up to grab it from the counter. " _We will take our leave, then._ " Ghost signs the words and then bows slowly, deeply. " _That reminds us, if you find yourself needing more than just a forge, we have heard that there is a Nailmaster around. One of the pupils strikes us as particularly good company._ " Charm scrambles to grab at their cloak, demanding to be picked up. 

Sibling reaches down and they jump into their arms, snuggling in. Ghost strides out the door, pausing only at something the big bug says. They breathe in sharply and the door closes, leaving them standing out in front of the building. 

Charm chirps at them. While they may have missed most of the conversation, they've got their nail back. They want to swing it.

They leap down out of sibling's arms and snatch it off of their back, waving it around. Grimmchild flies off of Ghost's shoulder, chirping and cackling madly and spitting fire. The pretty flames splutter out in the puddles of water. Charm crouches to peer at one such puddle and sibling pounces onto them without hesitation. They squeak loudly, indignantly, when Ghost manages to get all four of their hands on them. They bundle their sibling close, stealing the pretty nail and slipping it into their void, and turn a threatening gaze onto Grimmchild.

" _Here. Now,_ " Ghost demands in sloppy one-handed signs, the other three holding onto a wriggling Charm. Another mournful chirp, this time on the edge of sad tears and begging eyes. " _Grimmchild,_ " they warn.

They wriggle out of Ghost's arms, landing in a puddle with a loud splash. Charm turns to face them both, hands slowly forming signs. " _Sibling named Grimmchild?_ "

Ghost blinks down at them. " _Grimmchild is Grimm's child. He is the son of Grimm,_ " they return slowly.

Charm shakes their head sharply because that isn't the point. " _Our name isn't Wyrmchild._ " They cross their arms and scowl, projecting the emotion down the connection.

Acceptance, understanding, realization. Ghost turns their gaze towards Grimmchild, now floating upside down. **_What do we call you?_** they wonder quietly. Charm wonders if they meant to project that. No matter. 

They nudge their sibling and Ghost turns to look down at them. Charm jumps up and down, flapping their hands. **_Fireball!_** they project as loud as their mental voice can go.

Ghost winces, a hand coming up to rub at their forehead. Grimmchild drops a solid foot out of sheer surprise, his wings flapping quickly to pull himself back up. **_We are not calling him Fireball._**

Grimmchild chirps at them. He spits flame at them and curls up on their shoulders. Charm watches with wide eyes and huffs, making a considering noise. Images flow down the link, of various shapes of fire they have seen on this trip. Small fires, lanterns, candle flames.

They pause, then chirp. The image of the candle fades, leaving behind the flickering flame. Grimmchild perks up. Sibling seems to be considering it.

**_Flame it is,_** they decide. 

Charm purrs in pleasure, reaching up in a demand to be held. **_Where next?_** they ask.

Sibling hums. **_Return to Abyss. Nails will not be ready until later_.** They lean down and let Charm scramble back up into their arms. Flame settles himself around their shoulders. Ghost leaps off the final cliff below the Nailsmith's place and pauses. Charm twists their head to follow sibling's gaze. They're staring at an opening in the wall.

One of sibling's hands shifts to press up against their mask again. Charm has noticed they only do that when they're annoyed or upset. **_Sibling upset?_** they ask.

**_Sibling forgot shortcut,_** Ghost returns dryly. **_We can avoid the Waterways._**

Charm makes a pleased noise. **_Return to void, see siblings!_** They bounce in Ghost's arms, clapping their hands and ignoring their sibling's grumbles. 

**_Siblings?_** a third voice asks, their low tones filtering through the void. Charm glances around quickly, wondering who it is. 

Ghost, however, has pressed a hand against where Flame now rests on their shoulders. **_Grimmchild? Flame?_**

Flame responds with a chirp, but Charm is much more focused on the hole. They tug on sibling's shoulder and cape, pointing forward almost demanding. Charm wants to go back to the Abyss, wants to see their siblings again, wants to name their eggmates properly. 

Sibling jumps into the hole eventually. Good. Charm is tired of waiting. They want to go back to the Abyss. The outside is nice, but there's so many other bugs that they aren't allowed to stab. Charm frowns at the void sea that sibling has landed in front of. Sibling is distracted, signing to that weird bug with the gold mask. They ignore the stranger, instead poking at Flame until he spits flame in their face. 

Eight eyes blink down at them and sibling sighs, then leaps into the void sea. It whirls them away, spilling out into the Abyssal Seas. Ghost steps out onto the land and Charm leaps down with a chirp, shrilling out a hello. 

There is no returning call. Charm stills and stares up at sibling. Anger is filtering down through the void and Charm finds themself being angry, too. They push it away. That's sibling's feelings, not them. 

(Sibling doesn't seem to know or realize they're doing it.)

Ghost clenches their fists and storms into the room. Charm scrambles to keep up, leaping over abandoned sibling masks and chitin. 

Three new bugs are in the Abyss. One is a sibling and Charm waves to them in greeting. Another is a big bug that looks like a larger version of Flame. The third is a small glowy bug, with a set of horns similar to Wing's own. 

The glowy bug is kneeling in front of Lief, holding their hands gently. Light cascades around them, spilling out across the masks and bones, but it's gentle. It doesn't burn the way orange does. Glowy bug stills at the sight of them, slowly standing. 

Sibling snarls in warning. Glowy bug gets a bit closer, careful, watchful, but not mean. Charm chirps a hello. Ghost steps right in front of them, blocking their view.

(The void is boiling with hatred.)

Charm doesn't hear what Glowy bug says, but sibling goes dead still. The void boils over, seething and vicious, and they lunge forward. Charm slams their eyes shut, but they can still hear the sound of a mask shattering and a body hitting the floor. Sibling rushes past them.

Silence falls over the Abyss for but a moment, and then someone lets out a cry. "Ambrosia!" they call. Charm peeks their eyes open. The tall bug with glowy red eyes is leaning over the fallen Glowy bug, desperately pressing their hands against a bloody face. "Oh gods," the red bugs breathes. "Blood and Flame, oh Gods, Ambrosia." 

They gather Glowy bug into their arms and vanish within a burst of red flame. Above them, there is the faintest hint of another burst. Charm peers up to where the door no longer is and shrugs. They turn their gaze to sibling and scramble over to join the two vessels plastered against new big sibling's side. **_Hi!_** they chirp into the void. **_We're Charm! Eggmates are Nail and Shield._**

Nail and Shield instantly freeze. Charm smirks at them, projecting the memory of the naming with Ghost to them. Sibling tilts their head to the side.

**_Hallow,_** they whisper in return. _**Our name is Hallow.** _

Charm clambers up their cloak to bump their masks together in greeting. 

A plume of red smoke heralds the return of the red bug and Charm peers at them. They look distressed. Incredibly so. 

Red bug claps their hands, easily attracting all attention. "Right," they say, sweeping their cloak around. "I am Troupe Master Grimm. I will be your trip to the top. Shall we?" They lean down slightly and several siblings do not hesitate in clinging onto them. 

Hallow stands up, carefully holding Charm and siblings. White surrounds them and then they're at the top of the Abyss, standing in front of the open door. Hallow sets them down carefully. **_Going to get more,_** they say, and vanish in a burst of white. Charm joins the others just outside the Abyss door, carefully poking at the walls. The texture is weird. Red bug shows up again with a few more siblings, and then finally Hallow with the last. 

Counting quickly, Charm makes sure they have all the remaining shelled siblings. 

(They can feel sibling's distress through the void but turn their face away. Anything to ignore that overpowering grief and anger.)

Lief and Brook quickly gather all of them into a group, watching the red bug as he quickly directs them towards a large white building. Charm peers up at it, blinking at the pretty curves and shapes. 

There's a tall, glowing light heading towards them. Charm peers up. Tall and draped in white cloth. They're beaming widely. "Hello, little ones," they say softly. 

Hallow nudges them gently. **_This is mother,_** they whisper into the void. 

Charm blinks. **_Mother?_**

**_Mother. She looks after me and cares._ **

**_What's a she?_ **

Sibling pauses, then turns to face the pretty person. " _Mother? I'm going to check on father. They don't know what a pronoun is._ " Hallow quickly hurries down the hallway and the one they called mother smiles down at them.

"I am your mother, you are all my children." Mother gently bends down so that all can see and carefully scoops up the two smallest. "I have a room for you all." Mother turns, and strides down the hallway, easily pushing open a door despite holding two of the siblings. It's pushed open and Charm gets a look at what is apparently their room.

It's huge, with a massive group of soft things in the middle. Charm doesn't hesitate to fling themself into the pile, chirping with glee when others follow. Mother laughs and gently sets down their siblings, letting them run to join the others. "This is all yours. Hallow's room is just through that door. Ambrosia, your father, and I share a room that's directly across the hall." 

Charm digs themself out of the pillows and moves to stand in front of Mother. Mother bends down, peering at them. "Yes, my child?"

It takes them a moment to form the hand signs, but they manage. " _What's a she?_ "

Mother blinks. "Oh. She is my gender, just as your father uses he. Everyone chooses differently. Your sibling, Hallow, doesn't have a gender and chose to use they. Though I suspect that you and your siblings already knew that bit." She laughs, covering her mouth with a hand, and then glances quickly at the door. "Excuse me, but I must check on your father. I will be back soon, all right?" She vanishes through the door and quickly hurries through the one across the hall. Charm hums, turning to survey the room. 

The link slams shut without warning and Charm blinks. Their siblings start upwards, but settle back down into whacking each other with the soft fluff. They poke at the link, and then pause when Ghost presses back against it. A question. Tall, red bug, like Flame. Pet him.

They hum acceptance. **_Will try for sibling if you tell why link close?_**

Ghost cringes through the link. **_Projecting too many emotions. We may hate Sire, but we do not get to choose that for you._**

Charm peers at the room around them and then pushes the image through. They can feel the surprise coming from their sibling. **_Is that where you are?_** they ask, confused.

**_The big bug with the red eyes did a puff and we were at the top!_** Charm exclaims, waving their arms excitedly. **_Right after they left with the glowy pale one first._**

Dread filters through the link. **_Did we hit him that hard?_ **

They can't answer that question. Sibling may have an issue with glowy bug, but they don't. At least, not now that sibling isn't pouring their emotions down the link. Charm pushes away from the connection and carefully sneaks out the door, poking their head into the next room. Mother is sitting on the edge of the bed, brilliant white light glittering around her hands. The glowy bug, father, is resting there. 

Charm makes their way to the edge of the bed and hops up onto it. Father's eyes flicker open and he focuses on them. "Oh," he sighs out, then struggles to get up. Mother reaches a hand, pressing him back down onto the bed and he jerks, coughing harshly, blood flecking at the edges of his mandibles. 

Suddenly, they get an idea. A horrible, terrible idea. They wave their hands to get his attention. " _No glow,_ " they sign. " _Eyes closed. No move._ " Father raises a brow, but does as requested. Charm reaches out a hand to tug mother out of view.

(They send the image to Ghost and close the link.)


	19. Ghost

There is a ghost in the City of Tears.

There is no watcher to watch it this time.

(The watcher is in the White Palace, watching over his king.)

This ghost moves quietly, silently, no more than a shadow creeping through the darkness. They do not wish to be seen, heard, or spoken to. Their mind is stuck upon the image Charm sent them. They'd been so sure their father was fine. He is a god, a king, and a immortal Wyrm. Rebirthing himself into a new skin was a monumental feat compared to merely fixing up a body.

A weak, helpless body compared to their father's true form. 

Ghost presses their hand against their mask, Flame leaning upwards to nuzzle against it. He chirps softly in reassurance. They can feel his little legs scrambling against the back of their neck, the reassuring hum of his voice in the back of their mind. He's doing his best to soothe them despite their frazzled mind. 

They're shaking as they walk, hood up and cloak wrapped tightly around them. Their arms are folded around their waist, clutching at their own chitin. Flame slithers down from their shoulders and wriggles down their chest, forcing them to cradle him in their hands. 

(He's not letting them claw at their own chitin.)

Flame nuzzles their fingers beneath their cloak, cooing softly. He nips at them and wriggles in, demanding to be petted. They carefully unfold their lower arms and stroke his back, feeling a smile form under their mask. It's faint, and a little strained at the edges, but a smile none the less. They tilt their head upwards, peering up at the rain falling down upon them. It's dripping across the rooftops and tumbling down the buildings, but Ghost finds it soothing.

Different in a way that they can't describe. Traveling through this city after it had fallen had been an experience. Cold and solemn, lonely. Death and endless despair. But now, despite the streets being wet, there are bugs out and about. They're laughing and talking and bumping into each other. Ghost can smell food from street vendors and children are chattering happily in the background. 

It's alive. They find they prefer this City of Tears much more than what they remember it being. 

(A tiny part of them whispers cruelly, that they can understand why their father would be desperate to save it.)

Ghost glances at a food stand. They can smell it even halfway down the block and Flame has perked up almost violently. He sticks his face out of their cloak, sniffing the air rapidly. They carefully press a hand against his back, pinning the being of fire down. **_No,_** they think. 

**_Sibling,_** Flame whines in return. **_It smells like home food._**

Like Troupe food, he means but doesn't say. Ghost knows he's been missing it.

They glance at the vendor. A smaller bug with an apron, busily serving up what look like heavily seasoned skewers of vengefly meat. Ghost considers it. While they don't need to eat, they can appreciate the taste of good food. Flame chirps softly, pleadingly. Ghost heaves a sigh and shakes their head gently. **_All right,_** they think. **_But only if you remain near us._**

**_Yes!_** Flame chirps in celebration, scrambling up onto their shoulder. He winds themself around their neck in excitement. Ghost turns towards where the vendor is carefully frying more meat and strides over. They stop in front of the stand and chirp to get their attention. 

The bug's head comes up and they gasp. Ghost blinks, then reaches a hand up to tap Flame's face. The Grimmchild blinks their red eyes and then purrs, nuzzling at the hand. They flip up two fingers and then reach for their geo, carefully counting out the amount specified. The bug behind the counter is clearly terrified, but hands them the skewers anyway. 

Flame scrabbles off their shoulders. Ghost catches them easily with an empty hand and moves out of the way, carefully pulling off one of the neatly cubed pieces of meat. They hold it in front of him, watching as his needle-sharp teeth sink into it. He chews rapidly and swallows, then turns pleading eyes onto Ghost, begging for more. 

Ghost gives him another piece. Then another, and another, and another. He feasts upon each one greedily, purring at the taste and the spices. When the last one is gone, Flame turns his gaze onto the untouched skewer. Ghost gives him the empty skewer to chew on instead and transfers him down to their lower hands. 

Carefully they pull off one of the cubes, not even flinching at the heat of the meat. Ghost brings it up close, breathing in the scents of spices they can't name. They push their mask up a little, wrapping their tongue around it, and dragging it into their mouth. It's sweet and spicy. Very spicy. Ghost twitches slightly at the sensation that their mouth is on fire. That's definitely a new one that they've never experienced before.

No wonder Flame had been so excited to eat it. He breathes fire. Some spicy food would be no problem to him. 

They make a mental note to never accept a dinner with the troupe. If this is anything like Troupe food, then Ghost wants nothing to do with it. Or at the very least, they'd like to get a better tolerance to spicy stuff. They're not even sure if this is very spicy to someone who traveled with the Troupe. Another cube is popped into their mouth and they chew lazily. **_Is this spicy for you?_** Ghost asks, genuinely curious.

Flame pauses midchew and pulls back. The wood of the skewer as been thoroughly mangled by his teeth. He carefully snags another piece of meat from Ghost's skewer and settles back down, chewing it with relish. **_It's close,_** Flame thinks. **_Missing the fire that father's food had, but it's close._**

Despite being halfway through the meat cube, he's already eying the rest of Ghost's. They bite into another cube, enjoying the way the meat is tender enough to melt in their mouth. Despite being spicy, it's also quite delicious. They hum in appreciation, savoring the taste, carefully making sure to keep the rest of the skewer out of Flame's reach. **_This is ours,_** Ghost thinks lazily. **_We have shared quite enough, we think._**

Now sulking, Flame sets his mangled skewer on fire. Ghost brushes away the ashes and heads towards the gates at the front of the city, mentally marking out the path they're going to take through the Fungal Wastes. Now that the infection has been cleared, Ghost is curious as to what the areas will look like. Have things changed? What is the same? 

There's a burst of fire and satisfaction rolls through the void. Ghost glances down. Flame has his jaws locked around the last part of their skewer and he's busily chewing away. **_You little thief,_** they sigh but allow him to have it. He purrs in contentment and starts working on mangling the stick. 

Ghost shakes their head in fondness, laughs, and tries to pretend that their heart isn't hurting. 


	20. Ghost

There is a ghost at the edge of the Fungal Wastes. 

They're standing at the edge of the city, staring out across the wastes that stretch in front of them. Flame chirps from his position on their shoulder, stretching out lazily within the confines of their hood. They reach a hand up to press against his carapace, enjoying the warmth beneath their fingers. The rain seeping through the bottom of the lake is no longer splattering against their cloak, though they can still hear it hitting the ground behind them. Ghost tilts their head and glances around the area. There's only a few guards, none of which are watching them. Sure, they may be guarding the entrance to the City of Tears, but no one in the vicinity is threatening.

Ghost takes a step, quickly moving out of the line of traffic. Sure, they could take the Stag Station, especially since there's a stop far, far closer to the Mantis Village, but Ghost prefers to walk. There's something soothing about the trip, the way the light glitters and reflects off the spores drifting through the air. The way the wind ripples through openings and spirals around corners, rippling their cloak around their legs.

The air smells faintly like life, something not quite there. There's an underlying sense of ease, an air of relief that has replaced the despair. Fitting, considering that Ghost has eaten Radiance. She is no longer consuming the life around Her, wielding those She consumes as Her puppets.

(Once, they had tried to save Her, too. Their first attempt to climb the final pantheon had not gone well. They'd tried to talk to Her, tried to get Her to see that they didn't want to fight. She'd slaughtered them without hesitation, struck them down insulting them and their sire. They'd woken up, collapsed at the original entrance. Bitter and angry, they'd climbed back up and consumed Her.)

(She'd been too lost in Her madness to see they wanted no part in Her and their sire's fight.)

Flame croons from where he's pressed against their neck, stubby legs scrabbling against their chitin. He wriggles out, spreading his wings, and takes to the air. Clearly, Ghost isn't the only one who is tired of being rained on. As a being of fire and nightmares, he hadn't appreciated how wet the City of Tears is.

Now that it has stopped, the liquid no longer forcing him into the sanctuary of Ghost's cloak, he happily twirls and loops in the air. Loud chirps and bursts of flame escape his mouth with each swoop. They raise their arm, rumbling a call to attract his attention. Flame twists, flapping his wings wildly and chirping, his little legs stretching as he lands on Ghost's arm.

It's odd seeing the little Wyrm-like legs there when before he hadn't had any, but Ghost supposes that's what happens when you've been touched by the void. If you don't die almost immediately, it changes things, leaving its mark imprinted permanently upon you.

They gently move Flame up to their shoulder, draping his body across them. The Grimmchild flops lazily, spitting out a small burst of fire. Ghost pats his head, casually leaping down onto a lower ledge. He nuzzles their hand.

Mantis Village is deep within the Fungal Wastes. Ghost idly pulls out their map as they walk, tracing the path to the village. Down, right, down, and then left. It's probably better if they don't show up through the hidden entrance at the top of the area. Less likely for them to get brutally mauled that way. Besides, it's definitely politer to come in the front gate.

Ghost peers down the tunnel leading down. It's a fairly long fall, but their wings will keep them safe. They leap down, dashing around platforms, and laughing as the air whirls around them. Flame screeches in delight as they plummet downwards, his tiny claws digging into the void cloak.

The ground whirls up to meet them and Ghost flares their wings outwards, halting the fall with a single flap. They land gracefully, dust stirring up in a plume, and their still revealed wings catch their eye. Long and flowing and studded with golden light. Ghost reaches out a hand, pausing when they realize it's shaking.

Radiance's wings. They have Radiance's wings. Glowing and endless and hidden away beneath their cloak until they need them. Their original wings are still there as well, merely layered beneath the tendrils.

(A little hysterically, they wonder if they can float. Something to look into later, when they're no longer busy trying to keep from panicking.)

Flame bites their arm, the pain shocking them out of whatever pit their mind had fallen in to. Ghost drags themself back from the mental cliff, dropping the wing they're clutching like it's coated in thorns. The tendrils slide back beneath their cloak, folding into place with their wings.

They forcefully drag their eyes away from where the wings had vanished and towards where they're supposed to be heading to. Mantis Village, Flame reminds them without mercy. That's where they're supposed to be going, not spending time out here in the open having an emotional breakdown. They take a step forward, breathe in slowly, and start walking again.

Ghost swishes their cloak slightly, wincing when they catch sight of the golden tendrils. No wonder they hadn't seen them, not with the way their cloak of void neatly consumed the gold. Ghost huffs and flicks their wrist, dropping the void fabric. They don't need to spend their time on this, not when they have other, better things to do.

(A quick nip from Flame helps to drag them back. Helps them recenter themself. **_Temporary,_** Flame scolds them. **_Not make a habit._** Probably for the better that way.)

Something they are unsure of, though, is whether or not they should avoid the warriors patrolling the area around the village. When Ghost spots the first one, they pause, ducking back down out of sight. Their massive nail is draped across their back and they could dismiss it. But at the same time, the Mantis Tribe would never believe they would be unarmed, and would treat them with extreme wariness should they appear with no visible weapon.

Probably best that Ghost has the nail in plain view where they can see it.

A warrior tribe such as the Mantises most likely wouldn't appreciate someone trying to slink past them either. Ghost reaches a hand up to Flame and pins him with their best unimpressed look. **_Do not attack them,_** they think.

**_We wouldn't!_** Flame protests, pulling off a rather impressive sad face. Ghost mercilessly reminds him of all the times where he'd fireballed a mantis and Ghost had been forced to frantically dodge and explain. And that's not even beginning to speak of the Ooma in Fog Canyon.

Flame wilts with a very sad, mournful chirp.

Good. Ghost would rather not deal with a ticked off Mantis Tribe again. They may not be as terrifying as their leaders, but even the warriors still hit hard.

They rub a hand along Flame's back and get up from their hiding spot, making sure to head towards where the Mantis Warrior would be able to see them for a distance. Ghost lazily flicks their cloak, letting their gaze scan the surroundings as the spot the warrior is standing comes into view. "Halt!" a voice comes, and Ghost slows to a halt, blinking at the bug standing across from them.

The mantis tenses when Ghost pushes their cloak aside but doesn't lower their weapons or attack. Ghost levels them with a flat look. " _We're mute,_ " they sign, amused. " _Just passing through. No intentions to cause trouble._ "

"All intruders are to be dealt with," the mantis informs them, readying their blades. Ghost huffs a breath but doesn't grab their nail from their back. They do, however, crouch slightly, and then dash forward. Void curls up around their form, allowing them to phase through the mantis and Ghost easily bounces down onto the ledge lower down. A yelp comes from behind them as the warrior realizes what they have done, but it's far too late.

They've traveled too far to be stopped. Not this time, not ever.


	21. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Mantis Village.

Or rather, they're attempting to get into the village without causing a major incident. It's not working quite as well as they would like, especially considering that they're far too large to properly sneak in. That, and Ghost apparently decided that confronting them was a good idea.

The scowling, defeated mantis warrior laying half sprawled on the floor of the Fungal Wastes is proving otherwise. Their scythe blades are stuck into the ground nearby, where they had landed after a particularly twisty block from Ghost. The warrior glares at them.

Flame, from where he is perched on Ghost's shoulder, hisses loudly. He doesn't spit fire, not yet, but Ghost can tell he wants to. They shake their cloak out and slip out one of their lower arms, gently rubbing his back. The nail pointed at the warrior's throat doesn't move.

They glare mulishly. Ghost rolls their eyes behind the mask, huffing a breath. " _We said we were passing through. You were the one who challenged us._ "

Admittedly, it's nice this way. Each warrior that challenges them improves their skill rapidly. The first battle that they hadn't been able to bail from had been horrible.

Sure, they'd split the Flukemon in half with a single hit. Yes, they'd smashed Soul Master's mask with one kick. But, as it turns out, if the battle goes much farther than that, Ghost starts to suffer. They're constantly underestimating the sheer size of their reach, underestimating how much power they can put behind a blow, underestimating exactly how they move in comparison to the world around.

Ghost, the God of Gods, Lord of Shades, God of Shadows and Void, Dream and Night--is about as graceful as a hatchling just starting to learn.

But they're learning quickly, catching onto the way the nail's weight shifts it just so, and appropriately twisting their body to match. Each warrior they fight makes their steps smoother, their swings just a little bit more controlled. This warrior currently sprawled in front of them doesn't even have a scratch on them, other than the few they collected when they hit the ground.

The first warrior they'd downed, they'd had to heal. Ghost had completely miscalculated their swing, the nail coming in with far more force than they'd expected. It had cleaved through the Mantis' chitin with terrifying ease, spilling their blood across the Fungal Wastes. Ghost had cursed, loud and high pitched, and had hurried over to the downed Mantis' side. The warrior had snarled back as best as they could, but by then Ghost was too busy stuffing insides back into chitin and sealing it with soul to care.

Lesson learned. Ghost is far more careful with how they swing the massive nail now.

In all honesty, they don't know how their twin does it. Ghost vastly prefers their smaller Pure Nail, but they no longer wish to remain in that small size. Their sibling gave them this mask, it's made from the bone and chitin of their remains, and Ghost will not reform it again. They will just have to remain in their large form. It's about time they learned how to use it, anyway.

While their smaller form was useful, it definitely had drawbacks. Not being capable of breaking masks in a single hit being only one of them. Constantly being mistaken as a child is another.

Ghost huffs a breath and takes a step away, slinging their nail across their back. " _Thank you for the fight,_ " they sign, idly smirking under their mask when the Mantis snarls at them. Flame hisses dangerously in return, the deep maw of this throat lighting up red with flames. They reach a hand up and pinch his mouth shut in warning.

Mantis Village is nearby, its gates looming above them, and Ghost hums lazily as they walk. They pause in front of the tunnel leading in and frown, idly judging its walls. Definitely not big enough for them to whip out their nail, not without holding it in front of them the entire time and looking like they're itching for a fight. At least, they can't do that with the large nail.

The Pure Nail, however, is more than slight enough for them to conceal within their cloak. Ghost draws it from their void, clutching the handle within a lower hand. They quickly glance over themself. Massive nail on their back in direct view, cloak draped properly to hide the nail in their hand, and their final one readying soul just in case.

They breathe in slowly and straighten their back. Mantis Lords, even in the future, were one of the few places that Ghost not only respected but also felt comfortable being in. They hope the village can do so once again.

Clicking in a humming tune, they stride down the tunnel. Flame lounges on their shoulders, chirping in return. They glance about easily, lazily, blinking when they reach the end and step into the top part of the village itself.

Odd. They should have been challenged in the tunnel. Ghost shouldn't even have been able to make it halfway, considering that they're certain the warriors would have hurried back to inform the other about the intruder.

Ghost glances around a little more carefully this time, tilting their head to the side in an attempt to listen for voices. They can't help but wonder where everyone is. Using the Pure Nail as an assistant to their own claws, they carefully slide down the wall, making their way to where the arena lies. Ghost has to shade dash through quite a few smaller doorways to avoid crawling, but eventually they make it to the edge of the pit.

Carefully, in an attempt to not be caught, they lean over the edge and peer down. With their ascension, the darkness no longer bothers them, no longer restrains their vision, and Ghost tilts their head to the side. Even from this distance they can hear the loud voices, one of whom sounds particularly annoyed. It's oddly familiar, too.

"If you think I'm going to let you fight my sisters and not me, you'd better try again, Outsider!"

"Che' will not fight against a bug so injured! It is against che's code as a Great Knight!"

Oh gods, no. Ghost recognizes that style of speech. They recognize it intimately from that damned Fragile Flower bullshit. That challenge had stopped being fun after the fourth time they'd been knocked into a spike pit. They groan softly and press their hands against their mask, wondering what they had done to deserve this. 

Who had they offended to be stuck with Ze'mer as divine punishment?

Normally Ghost would turn tail and bail out of there, but they find their curiosity to be overwhelming. They slide down the wall with ease, pausing about halfway down to dig the nail in and come to a halt, giving them the ease of looking out across the crowd of Mantises to the arena.

Well, guess that's where everyone is.

Including Traitor Lord. He appears to be yelling right back at Ze'mer, looking incredibly annoyed. There are bandages wrapped around his chest, right where Ghost caved it in in their Godhome fight. Oops. Guess he'd been punished for that. They'd wondered why Traitor Lord had stumbled, and that's clearly the answer.

Apparently he hadn't been as gone as they'd thought.

"You are dating my daughter," Traitor Lord hisses dangerously, leaning heavily on his weapons. "And therefore you will have to fight me to be accepted."

The Traitor's Child is visibly aggravated, looking only moments away from stomping her foot out of sheer frustration. "Father! You're injured and in no shape to fight!" Ze'mer is about a half step back behind her and --

Ghost has a sudden flashback to their Godhome fight with her and shudders. They do not like the lance Ze'mer carries. Not one bit. That thing hurt more than being clawed by Herrah and her terrifying blades. They wouldn't be surprised in the least if it turned out that the Gray Mourner poisoned her weapon.

Traitor Lord leans forward as best he can, snarling right back at his daughter. "I am your father! It's not right for my sisters to be the one to defend you!" He rears back when his daughter gets right in his face, either out of surprise or anger, and his gaze locks right onto Ghost, still latched onto the wall.

Oh.

Oh, _shit_.


	22. Grimm

There are many ghosts within the White Palace.

Grimm desperately hopes that Ambrosia doesn't become one of them.

Finding out he has a living Grimmchild is enough of a shock, seeing the bottom of the Abyss is an even bigger one. He's known that the Wyrm has a closet full of exoskeletons for years, but he's never let that stop him.

But then, landing at the bottom and bearing witness to the thousands upon thousands of masks and shells laying abandoned at the bottom. Seeing the way Ambrosia's head drops, the way his shoulders hunch inwards, the hitched breath and the hastily choked off sob. The way the mask he picks up crumbles within his hands and the grief he displays for those lost.

Ambrosia may be many things, but Grimm is a master actor and the leader of the troupe bearing his own name. He knows false truths when he sees them. The grief and despair the Wyrm is showing is very, very real.

It tears at Grimm's heart. He wishes he could soothe it, but Ambrosia has always been so very hesitant to give away his heart. That much, Camellia had been truthful about.

(Everything else, though, he's had to learn through other ways. The last time he asked, Camellia had laughed herself into a fit of tears.)

The Pale Wyrm's light casts a brilliant glow around the bottom of the Abyss, the broken remains of masks and ruined chitin reflecting like some sort of macabre painting. Grimm lets his own gaze sweet across the floor, watching as the closest abandoned shells reflect the red of his fire.

His head twists to the side when a chirp echoes. It's the Pure Vessel, though Grimm supposes that they're Hallow now, and their gaze is focused on something in the distance. Grimm follows it, pausing slowly.

A particularly large pile of shells is moving.

Not very much, granted, as it's just shifting from side to side, but it's more than anything else.

Hallow chirps again, pitched in the way that only a greeting call can be. For a moment, Grimm thinks they're out of their mind. Right up until the point an answering chirp rings out in the darkness and the tiniest vessel Grimm has ever seen pops over the top of the mound.

Behind him, Ambrosia gasps, and Grimm doesn't have to look to know that the Wyrm has covered his mouth in his shock.

The tiny vessel chirps loudly and brightly, little hands clinging to the horns on the pile in an attempt to keep from sliding off. Hallow returns the noises, leaning forward in interest. Grimm watches as the little one waves their arms, immediately losing their grip and tumbling all the way to the bottom of the hill. They roll to a halt and shake their head rapidly, scrambling to their feet and crossing the distance to plaster themself against the Pure Vessel's leg.

Grimm covers his mouth to hide his smile. The little one reminds him of the few Grimmchildren he's been able to see before he rebirth. Young and tiny and oh so full of adventure and energy.

For a while Hallow and the little one just chirp back and forth. Grimm leans back and watches them, idly keeping an eye on Ambrosia. The Wyrm looks devastated, his eyes glittering around the edges with unshed tears. His shoulders sink in together and Grimm frowns. He wants to reach over and drag him close, but knows full well that the God will not allow it.

His gaze shifts back to the little vessel when they finally stop chirping. They spin around on one tiny foot and chirp, loud and clear. Silence descends upon the group for a heartbeat. Grimm has just enough time to wonder what that was about when more heads appear from within the deepest shadows of the Abyss. More vessels, each that little size, tumble down the mounds and stumble to a halt in front of the group.

Two of them practically tackle Hallow, scrambling up their elder sibling to settle within their arms. More scramble closer, peering up at Grimm and his glowing red eyes. One comes to a halt in front of Ambrosia and the Wyrm drops to his knees, hands gently reaching out to clasp their own.

Grimm turns away. That is their conversation to have, and he does not need to listen to that. He drops to peer down at the little ones, watching as they curiously poke at his red carapace and wings. One of them even flaps their arms, chirping demandingly.

Well, if they want to see him in flight, he can definitely oblige them. Grimm spreads his wings dramatically, flinging them outwards like he would a cloak, and takes to the air. He hovers in front of them lazily, wings pumping slowly and lazily. The little vessel with the curved horns chirps and leaps up and down in excitement. Grimm purrs smugly, letting flames curl around his mouth.

He really does enjoy putting on a show. Especially when those watching can shower him with awe and delight.

The small vessel waves their arms at him again and demands that he swoop around the room. Well, he can always do that. Grimm lifts a little higher up, splaying his wings to bank a turn and immediately stills when his gaze lands on a much bigger vessel.

They're standing at the edge of the room, eight-eyed mask glaring at everyone standing there. But they're not the one who has caught Grimm's attention, it's the large Grimmchild sitting neatly on their shoulder. The new vessel is even taller than Hallow, something Grimm didn't think was possible, and they're oozing barely restrained malice.

Ambrosia very gently steps forward. Grimm spots that his hands are shaking quietly, something that the Wyrm is quick to hide. "My dear child," he breathes, looking like he's been struck.

Rumbling dangerously, the vessel glares at him. " _We are not your child,_ " they return, the hand signs sharp and angry. Ambrosia visibly flinches back, head dropping just a minute degree.

"That's quite understandable. We have done nothing to prove to you that we mean it." Ambrosia turns his face away, looking grieved.

Grimm's far too busy watching Ambrosia to see the punch in time. He is, however, close enough to hear the sickening crunch of chitin and mandible, the sharp, badly smothered hiccup of pain escaping as he's flung backwards into stone. Ambrosia slumps to the ground, completely still. His mask has been shattered, little shards sticking into his face and spilling his blood.

"Ambrosia!" Grimm yelps, hitting the ground running. He skids to a halt, probably bruising his knees in the process, and presses a hand up against the Wyrm's bloody face. "Blood and Flame! Wyrm! Oh Gods, Ambrosia! Are you all right?"

The weak gurgling he receives in response does not help. Ambrosia immediately passing out on him doesn't help either.

Panic builds in his throat and Grimm hurriedly scoops Ambrosia up into his arms. The Wyrm is deathly still and the only thing keeping him from actually panicking is the way his chest is still slowly rising and falling. He clutches Ambrosia close to his chest and gathers up his magic, feeling it swirl up around him. When the red clears, he's at the top of the Abyss.

Lurien waits up there, just barely outside of the doors. He's lazing against the ground, a book in his hands, but he leaps to his feet the second Grimm bolts out. "Troupe Master!" he yelps, then goes still. Grimm can only assume he's finally seen Ambrosia's state.

"Take him directly to the Queen," Grimm orders, shoving Ambrosia into Lurien's arms. The butterfly splutters for a moment but nods sharply, quickly spreading his wings and taking off as fast as he can. Lurien might not be able to fly very well, what with his wings being all messed up, but he can certainly move when panicked enough.

He relaxes a little knowing that Ambrosia will in safe hands and turns back down the Abyss, idly readying himself to teleport back down. Time to bring the rest of the vessels to the top. He poofs back down and bows dramatically, huffing a laugh when he's immediately tackled by a bunch of hatchlings.

(When they're all finally at the top, he immediately bails to go check on Ambrosia. The Pale King is awake, but barely coherent. Grimm reaches out a hand, swallowing tightly when Ambrosia takes it and squeezes weakly. He'd never do this if he was feeling fine. In fact, Grimm doesn't even know if Ambrosia recognizes him right now.)

(That fact hurts the most of all.) 


	23. Mantis Lord Keiza

There is a ghost within the walls of the Mantis Village.

This ghost looks like they want to be anywhere else but here.

Keiza stares at them. They stare right back, unmoving from their position on the wall. "Father?" Freya asks, confused, because Keiza knows that his anger has bled out and been replaced with confusion. She follows his gaze and chokes. The others in the audience do so as well.

The ghost looks very much like they want to be anywhere else but here. In fact, they're now glancing around nervously, clearly trying to determine a way out of this unfortunate situation.

Some of the Mantises have drawn their weapons, carefully moving forward in an attempt to corner them. Part of the intruders cloak wriggles up by the throat. Keiza narrows his eyes slowly, leaning forward.

"Halt," Keiza orders, swinging his arm out. It pulls at the wound on his chest quite painfully but he ignores it. The warriors pull back, still wary but no longer being actively threatening. "You're intruding in something you shouldn't be, Outsider."

The outsider blinks lazily back at him, shifting slightly. Their cloak opens and Keiza pauses. There are two hands clutching at the handle of a nail stabbed into the wall, but two more emerge and shake themselves out. " _We apologize, Mantis Lord._ "

Mute then, or at the very least, not prone to speaking. Keiza glances at his tense men and gestures. They back down a little more, blades slowly being sheathed. The outsider blinks slowly and reaches one of the lower hands upwards. Their cloak wriggles wildly, squeaking loudly. They press a hand against their shoulder, carefully manipulating the fabric there.

Keiza leans forward.

A hatchling pops out, screeching furiously. The outsider helps them in scrambling up and around their neck. Tiny legs scrabble as they curl up and glare down at everyone, red eyes narrowed dangerously. There's black streaking down from their eyes, like a mimicry of tears.

The outsider pets them, head shifting just enough so they can peer down at the hatchling around their throat. A chirp echoes from the little one, and then a low purr. They settle in, yawning in a way that distinctly reveals lots of needle-sharp teeth.

A very effective threat for someone so young and small.

Keiza would be impressed if it wasn't aimed at him.

He leans back a little, grunting at the pull on his wound. "Why are you here, Outsider? And are you going to leave quietly, or do I have to make you?"

"Father!" his daughter hisses, looking panicked. "You're too injured for this!"

"I am a Mantis Lord," Keiza returns. "This is a part of my duties, injured or not."

"Keiza," his sister warns softly. She sounds like she's an inch away from stabbing him, too. He ignores her.

The outsider leans back slightly where they're still perched on the nail. They stop petting the hatchling on their shoulder, not even flinching when the little one hisses in protest. " _We were curious, oh Mantis Lord._ "

Keiza narrows his eyes just slightly. "Curious?"

" _Your stagger brought us time. We came to see if you survived Her wrath._ "

Shock barrels through him even as his warriors start snarling. Keiza goes still, mind whirling. That golden arena was not a dream, the wounds he woke up with were more than enough proof of that. He really should have known that the child he'd fought against would show up eventually, too.

"You're that little ghost," he splutters wildly, staggering back to slump against the base of his throne. "You dealt with the Light!"

" _Consumed Her, actually._ "

"You consumed Her," Keiza repeats, so stunned he can't do much more except that. His daughter gasps. Ze'mer goes still, gaze snapping from Keiza to the outsider and back again. Vatina, Giosa, and Caria all freeze, heads whipping around so fast Keiza swears he hears their chitin pop.

The outsider does not move, but they tilt their head to the side, slowly. " _We did,_ " they agree.

A little hysterically, and half convinced he's dreaming, Keiza asks, "Did she taste good?"

" _No. She tasted like lies and burnt dreams._ "

Kezia wonders how the outsider knows what those taste like. It's probably safer if he doesn't ask that question. He's not sure if he'll like the answer. 

He sinks his head into his hands. His shoulders are shaking. There's something bubbling in his throat, some emotion that he doesn't understand. Keiza throws his head back and howls with laughter, wheezing until the pain in his chest becomes too much to ignore. He chokes off, gasping, hand darting up to press against the bandage. There's blood seeping through it now. He's definitely torn open the wound again. His sisters are going to kill him for this, but Keiza can't bring himself to care.

The reality of this situation is just. . . too much.

"I can't believe you actually ate her." Keiza leans back, ignoring the way his daughter is now fussing over the wound.

" _We were angry,_ " the outsider returns with a shrug. They peer down at Keiza, all eight eyes glimmering. " _You are very injured._ "

"You stabbed me," he returns dryly. "Ran me through completely."

They huff a laugh. " _We admit we weren't quite expecting your chitin to give like that._ " They drag their nail out of the wall with a heavy noise, landing down on the ground without a sound. It's slipped into their cloak, vanishing from their hands.

Keiza gestures lazily and the warriors make a path, despite his sister's protests. They draw their lances threateningly, carefully crowding around Keiza's form. The outsider makes their way up closer, stopping in front him. They tilt their head sideways and then kneel down, peering at the quickly soaking bandages. " _We can heal that, if you would like, Mantis Lord._ "

He raises a brow. "That easily?"

The outsider smiles, the bottom of their mask detaching to reveal a gaping maw. It's filled to the brim with many needle-sharp teeth. " _Consider it a gift for defying Her will._ "

"That should not be as comforting as it is," Keiza says, sagging slightly. His chest aches and he can feel the slick trickle of his own blood oozing out of his wound. He huffs a breath and leans his head back, glancing up at his sisters.

They do not look happy.

But this is Keiza's choice, not theirs.

"If it gets me back up on my feet so I can finish some things. . ." Keiza trails off and his gaze flickers towards Ze'mer. The sooner he's up on his feet, the faster he can absolutely destroy her for daring to date his daughter.

The outsider chirps and places a hand against his chest. Slowly, the white glow in their eyes increases, filling with gold around the edges, until its blazing out around the edges. They place a hand against their chest and a circle forms around them.

It glows brilliantly, the endless runes and letters and shapes flashing.

Keiza is uncomfortably aware of the sensation of his wounds sealing shut. He doesn't particularly like it, the sticky, itchy, crawling sense of something wriggling beneath his chitin. It's uncomfortable and he finds himself gritting his jaw, mandibles pressed uncomfortably against his face.

If this is how the Pure Vessel heals, Keiza is suddenly a lot more sympathetic. 


	24. Flame

There is a ghost in the Mantis Village.

This ghost is sulking, fearful, and hiding their emotions. 

As soon as Flame figures out how to talk, without using the void to communicate through Ghost, he's going to blab _everything_. Watching Ghost traveling through Hallownest had been painful the first time, even when he was too young to realize what was going on.

But now? Watching his sibling close themself off further instead of opening up? Ghost seeing their father had been the first clear emotion that Flame had felt from them in a while. And now it's buried again, smothered and pushed away like they can't, won't deal with it. 

Flame is connected to the Nightmare Heart. He's been privy to a lot of nightmares, more than Ghost thinks they've had. The really bad ones Flame eats before they can get too far, too deep. He knows quite a bit about Ghost's deepest fears. 

Seeing their father had really messed them up, emotionally. Flame doesn't think they can fix it. Not easily. But he's unable to communicate through writing, unable to speak, but desperate to get his sibling some form of happiness. Which leaves him forced to improvise. 

He scrambles around his sibling's shoulders, making sure to press up against their neck with his little legs. While it reassures them of his presence, learning how to use the many appendages had been a pain. They may not be very long legs, but Flame has already failed to move the right ones more than once. At one point, he messed up so badly he'd fallen off of Ghost's shoulders and had to be caught. That had been rather embarrassing. 

He'd originally resolved to not do that again, but Ghost is clearly trying to clam up while in Mantis Village and Flame is not having it. Which means doing his best to scramble off of the godling and make his way through the village in an attempt to find someone to talk to. Or attempt to talk to.

The Mantis Lord, what was his name--Keiza? He might work. Flame distinctly remembers watching him fuss over his daughter. He might be a little over the top, but he seems rather well meaning.

Not that Flame has good ideas of who is a good parent or not, but the Mantis Lord seems to have a decent relationship with his daughter.

Certainly better than the relationship Ghost has with their father at least.

Unfortunately, he can't speak currently. Which means that not only does he have to get to the Mantis Lord, he also has to convince the Mantis to parent Ghost.

Better to try, though. He's not sure he can take much more of feeling Ghost's self hatred and overwhelming grief through the void. Even if the Mantis Lord can't get Ghost to talk, a display of decent emotional state would probably help.

Or at least, Flame thinks it will help. If he fucks this up, he's pretty sure Charm will find something to stab him with. Even if they have nothing in hand, they'll find something. They're distressingly capable at locating sharp pointy things.

He glances sideways at the Mantis Lord over on the side. His daughter is fussing over him, poking at the newly healed wound. The Great Knight stands lazily nearby, but her sharp gaze is sliding between the Mantises and Ghost. Back and forth, again and again. Rather understandable, given that they've just found out that Ghost is the one who consumed the Radiant Light. By themself. They probably don't even know what that even entails, but it's definitely lead to everyone watching them almost warily.

His sibling isn't taking that staring well, though. Not well at all, in fact. Ghost had retreated almost immediately to a corner, nervously cleaning their nail. Their shoulders are hunched against the eyes on their form, their hand dragging a cloth up and down against the metal.

But it's the perfect moment for Flame to slink off. Maybe he can even phrase it as looking for something to eat. He huffs a breath and spreads his wings, carefully lifting himself off the ground. The nearby Mantises glance at him nervously, but Flame pays them no heed.

Stretching lazily, he glides across the room, stretching out his lower legs to land right on the Mantis Lord's shoulder. He hears the yelps as he does so, but Flame drapes himself across and digs his lower legs into the fabric of the cape. He chirps a hello, leaning over to peer down at the mostly healed wound.

A hand comes up to him, gently rubbing at his horns, and Flame leans against it, purring. The Mantis Lord has very nice sharp claws that reach exactly the nice spots. He splays out fully, letting his tail drape down over the back of his cloak.

"Oh, you're adorable," the Traitor's Child says softly, bending down so she can scratch his chin. He leans his head upwards to allow her access, thumping his tail happily. "Do you think he's hungry?" she asks, and yes, please, food sounds delicious. He chirps in the demand that only a hungry child can have, letting himself fall off of the Mantis Lord's shoulder to land on his back in his lap.

"You sound exactly like Freya did at that age," the Mantis Lord comments, much to his daughter's protests. He laughs at her, bright and cheerful, and Flame peers up just in time to see her join in.

If Flame can somehow get him to hug Ghost, they're going to break down immediately.

The question is how he can do it without Ghost either storming off in a furious rage or attempting to stab him. Gods only know how badly his sibling needs that emotional release. 

Flame clicks and chirps, twisting around in the Mantis Lord's lap to drape his head over a leg. The Mantis Lord laughs again, gently petting him. His daughter hurries back--Flame hadn't even realized she'd left--with a platter in her hands. Flame perks his head upwards at the smell, tail flicking happily. She settles down across from her father, carefully picking up what smells like hunks of smoked meat. 

Oh, that smells fabulous. Flame chirps in delight and happily takes it from her fingers, being careful to not bite her fingers. He lounges there, enjoying the taste of the meat. It's sweet and smoky, very well flavored. Just as good as the smoked meat the troupe occasionally makes using Grimm's fire. 

He leans over and chirps loudly to get Ghost's attention, calling them over to his side. Their sibling huffs a laugh and slowly makes their way over, settling down beside them. Flame grabs a hunk of meat and scrambles onto their lap, dropping it into their hands. 

" _For me?_ " they sign, blinking confusedly. Flame chirps in response and watches, stubby tail thumping as they watch their sibling carefully eat it. A churr escapes them, pleased and happy, and they reach out to take another piece.

Flame curls up back in the Mantis Lord's lap with a piece of meat to chew on and plots. 


	25. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Mantis Village.

They do not know what they are doing there. They do not know why they are still there. But Flame seems to like it here, so they suppose they can't complain. 

In fact, he's currently curled up in the Mantis Lord's lap, happily accepting pieces of meat from the Traitor's child. He chirps demandingly, legs scrambling against the Mantis Lord's chitin to push himself upwards, jaw parting to delicately sink his needle-sharp teeth into the meat. " _Hungry, Flame?_ " they sign, and they know he can feel their laughter. 

Flame sticks his tongue out at them in response, happily snapping up another piece. Ghost huffs a laugh and leans back on their hands, pretending they're not as unnerved sitting next to the Traitor Lord as they really are. 

The Traitor Lord glances at them from the corner of his eye, clearly considering something. Ghost eyes him in return, reaching out to take a piece of meat. They drop their lower jaw, feeling the way flesh and chitin plates stretch, and sink their teeth into the meat. Humming lazily, they chew carefully, mapping out the taste. 

Ghost has so few words for describing flavor. They barely even know more than the basics that Hornet and Hallow were able to teach them all that time ago. No complex words to describe flavor or texture. Stars, Ghost hasn't had anything to drink other than the very basic water. It's not like there was much to drink during that time, but still.

It's sweet and smoky, with a hint of spice. Quite enjoyable, they decide, and very different from anything else they might have had. What little they'd had of their sister's cooking before their accidental time travel had been sharp, strong, and savory. She hadn't had access to very many of her home's spices, but the replacement ones she'd found had been close enough.

They make a note to try some of the food within the Distant Village once they are there. Perhaps Ghost can get a better idea of what their sister's home is like.

Flame chirps loudly, dragging them out of their thoughts. He raises himself up upon his back legs, jaw opening and closing in different shapes. He's making hissing noises, but no flame escapes his mouth. Ghost peers down at him, blinking. " _Flame? Are you well?_ "

"Is everything all right, little one?" the Mantis Lord asks, tilting his head to the side. Flame swings his head up to stare at him and then gives him a wide, toothy grin. Knowing full well that smile means nothing but trouble, Ghost braces themself. Anything can happen.

"S! Siiiii! Siiiib! Sibwing!" Flame chirps at the top of his lungs. "Sibwing shad!" Ghost recoils at the words, as true as they are, and is completely unprepared when Flame launches himself at them. He scrambles across their chitin, wings flapping open to propel himself onto their shoulders. "Hug!" Flame screeches, nuzzling his face into Ghost's throat. "Hug shad sibwing!"

No, no, no! Ghost does their best to recoil away, but they're not fast enough. The Mantis Lord has clearly already decided that it's best to humor Flame, because he doesn't even hesitate in moving to drag Ghost into a hug. They squeak loudly as they're bundled against his side, the Mantis Lord's grip gentle but kind. 

A breath catches in their throat and they bring a hand up, pressing it against the face of their mask. They're not going to break, they're not going to break, _they're not going to break_. Not here, not now, not like this.

They are the Lord of Shades, the God of Gods, Master of Dreams and Night, Shadows and Void. They are so above the rest of the realm, above even the highest of beings! They are. . . shaking.

"It's all right, little one," the Mantis Lord soothes softly. He gently lays his other hand against the back of Ghost's head, pressing their face against his shoulder. "You're trembling. I don't know what you've faced, but you're safe here." 

Ghost cracks like one of those stupid unusable bowls they once saw in the City of Tears. They heave a sob, all four hands coming up to clutch at the Mantis Lord's cloak. Tears of black void smear down their mask, their shoulders shaking as they grieve. The Mantis Lord rubs their back gently, Flame chirping softly as he snuggles against their face. 

Memories flicker through their mind's eye, all of the grief and the pain that they went through in the future that no longer is. Every single bit of grief that they've never dealt with, never resolved or come to terms with. The Blue Lake, Kingdom's Edge, Queen's Gardens, and Crystal Peak. Quirrel and Tiso and Cloth and Myla. All of the living bugs they'd killed, those who did not deserve it and were merely pawns of Her wrath. Including the Mantis Lord currently soothing them, crooning soft noises and rubbing their back. 

Oh, Gods, they can't do this. They can't. All of the walls that they've put up, all the cracks that they've pushed back together and attempted to seal, all of the emotion that they've buried and hid. It's all coming out at once. Walls shattering, cracks tearing back open, emotion bubbling and boiling over. 

So Ghost does what they do best. 

What they've always done best.

They run.

Ghost phases through the Mantis Lord without a sound, one hand snatching up a now screeching Flame. He's howling, "No! No! No!" repeatedly, and they shove him against their cloak, muffling the noise. Void tears drip down their face, smearing their mask in a mockery of the lines on Flame's face, and they bolt towards the gate that leads into Deepnest. Shade dash has refreshed by the time they hit it, and Ghost passes through it without a sound, void splashing upwards to allow them through the decorated metal. 

The sound of their breath, hitched and choked with tears, the clatter of their claws against the ground, the way they shove aside rocks and their horns scraping against the ceiling. Ghost makes no attempt to be quiet, couldn't be quiet even if they tried. They collapse to their knees in a dark corner and curl up, pressing their face against their knees. 

Flame squirms out of their cloak and nuzzles against their mask, doing what little he can to soothe their grief. Ghost ignores him, pressing their mask so hard against their knees that they can feel the chitin groan in complaint. Void spills down across pale bone, smearing white with a glimmering black. Their breath comes hitched and fast, desperately attempting to get air into their lungs as they sob.

Footsteps echo in front of them. "Intwudew!" someone screeches. Ghost lifts their head, tears making their vision blurry. 

So small, so little, such a vibrant cloak of red. 


	26. Hornet

There are no ghosts in Deepnest.

Hornet will make sure of it.

Her mama has spoken of ghosts, in hushed whispers with Midwife when she thinks Hornet isn't listening. When she's supposed to be in bed, but has snuck out anyway because, duh, you can't just whisper about important things in earshot and then pretend they're nothing!

Hornet peers carefully around a corner. Her mama put her to bed for a nap an hour ago. She'd been good and quiet, not moving until she's certain that she won't be caught before getting up and sneaking out. Distantly, she can hear mama around a corner, speaking in hushed tones with Midwife again, and Hornet scrambles up the wall.

The tiny little hairs on her legs help her stick and, despite only having four limbs--mama says she'll gain the rest upon her first molt!--Hornet manages to get up into a nook. She wriggles around and peers over the edge, carefully crawling forward until she's certain she can hear without being caught.

"I'm just worried," mama sighs out, and Hornet frowns. She's never heard mama sound like that, worried and anxious. Clearly, Hornet has to fix this. "A ghost running around the kingdom, the infection up and vanishing from the few Deeplings who _did_ get infected, those odd dreams of a golden arena." A long, slow, heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do, Midwife."

Midwife chuckles. "Remember, I raised you, Herrah. If I didn't know how you thought after all of this time, I would be a poor excuse of a midwife." She falls silent for a moment. "I cannot tell you what to do, Herrah, but I trust that you will do what's right for our people."

They both go silent for a moment and then mama snorts. "Unlike that idiot of a Wyrm." Midwife chokes and then cackles loudly. Mama waits for Midwife to calm before speaking. "Spread word about the ghost. Make it so that everyone knows of their appearance."

Hornet carefully crawls backwards. There's a ghost in Deepnest. What if it hurts mama? What if it breaks into their nest? She glances down at the ground below, where mama is passing by.

Maybe she could do it. Make sure that mama doesn't have to worry anymore.

Of course, she's going to have to get a weapon first to do that. The only nail or needle mama has allowed her is one made of shellwood. Small and perfect for her size, and utterly incapable of doing any damage. Absolutely and perfectly useless for an expedition to find a ghost. Hornet couldn't have a worse weapon even if she actually tried.

There is another weapon, though. A needle, gloriously sharp and taller than she is. It's in mama's room right now, carefully put away until she's big enough to wield it. Hornet glances around below her. Mama is out of sight, but she'll still have to be careful. Mama has very sharp hearing when it comes to such things as sneaking out.

Mama is very hard to get past. Especially if Hornet's trying to do something that she isn't supposed to be.  
Carefully crawling down the wall, Hornet glances around and then slips through a small, webbed tunnel. It leads to mama's room, something she'd only learned a few days ago, and now she's going to take advantage of this. Hornet cautiously pokes her head out.

She tilts her head to the side, listening intently.

Nothing. No one. Mama isn't here currently. Good.

Hornet scrambles out of the tunnel and glances around, gaze immediately zeroing in onto the shiny needle on the wall. She darts across the room and climbs up to it, then pauses. There's a problem. She can't get the needle down. Not easily. Not without it clattering against the ground and alerting Mama that she isn't resting. The last time that had happened, Hornet hadn't been allowed her favorite honey cakes for days.

But if she doesn't attempt it, then she'll never be able to get out and go find that ghost. Hornet climbs down and scans the room, gaze alighting upon the pillows on Mama's bed. Maybe if she piles those up, she can drop the needle onto them and it won't make noise?

Maybe. Hopefully. Gods, she refuses to be put to bed like a baby. Hornet is five, thank you very much. She's a princess and five and can do this by herself.

Pushing and dragging pillows that are twice her size is far too much effort, but eventually she gets the largest one below the needle. Good. She eyes it for a moment and then glances up at the glittering, gleaming needle. Hornet scrambles back up the wall and pulls at the weapon, unhooking it. It crashes to the pillow with a muffled thump and she stills on the wall, glancing around quickly.

Nothing.

Hornet breathes out a sigh of relief, climbs down, and sets about dragging the pillow back into its original position before turning her gaze to the needle.

It's so much bigger than she originally thought, and heavier too, but she eventually gets it onto her back. It's heavy. She'll get used to it eventually, though. It's her weapon, after all. 

The needle is shiny and glittery, with a ring at the end for her to eventually tie silk onto. She doesn't know how to do that currently, but she'll learn. Hornet will make sure of that. She's really excited to swing from the needle like she's seen some of the others do. It looks like great fun.

She won't be able to get back through the tunnel with the needle on her back, which means more improvising. That's okay, Hornet doesn't really like plans anyway. She's not very good at following them.

There's no doors in the Nest and she carefully peeks out, then slips through the fabric blocking the entrance. No one is around and Hornet quickly makes a break for one of the back tunnels. If she can get to it without being caught, she's out free.

Hopefully without getting caught by Mama or one of the guards. That wouldn't end well for her, especially since she's currently got a needle. One that she is definitely not supposed to have.

Mama will be so disappointed to see her breaking the rules of her nap but Hornet has a ghost to catch.

The halls of the Distant Village are webbed thickly and Hornet scrambles across them, being careful to not leave any signs of her passing behind. She crawls through a hidden tunnel, just barely big enough for her to squeeze through with the needle on her back.

Voices down the hall, and she ducks down as guards pass by. They don't notice her, probably too deep in their conversation, and Hornet scurries out a window. She climbs into a set of tunnels and relaxes, giggling mischievously to herself.

Time to find that ghost!


	27. Ghost

A drawing done by Maiden because she loves making me scream. A tiny baby hornet meeting her siblings.

* * *

There are two ghosts within Deepnest.

One of them is close to tears.

They shake where they sit, collapsed against the wall. Their sister stares up at them, so small, so tiny. She's not any bigger than Flame, probably smaller if they're being honest. They could crush her with a single hand.

She scrambles closer to them and they take note of the needle on her back. It's huge compared to her, easily twice her height. Ghost blinks through their tears, furiously scrubbing the black void off of their mask.

"Intwudew!" she screeches, hitting a pitch that makes Ghost wince. Her hand whips back and she attempts to drag the needle off of her back, struggling due to the size. She has to brace it with both hands to even keep it in the air. Ghost peers down the length of the needle, their keen eye catching the way it wavers.

Flame scrabbles over their shoulders and chirps at her in greeting. "Hewwo!" he cackles, spitting out the smallest ember of flame. Her eyes grow wider behind the mask and the needle tip shifts to point at Flame. "Shishther! Hi!"

He scrambles down Ghost's shoulders and launches into the air, his wings flapping to keep himself level to Hornet's face. She hisses at him in warning, darting backwards and away, and Flame follows her quickly. Ghost groans as she scuttles backwards, tripping over her own feet in an attempt to get out of range. They reach out and catch her, keeping her from scratching herself on the needle. Flame is grabbed with their lower arms, and they bundle him against their chest.

**_Behave,_** they tell him, ignoring the way he pouts dramatically in response. They dealt with his father, Flame himself is far less dramatic in comparison.

Hornet growls at them and they gently release her hand, carefully repositioning the needle on her back. " _We apologize for that, sister,_ " they sign.

"Whatta those weiwd hand thingies?"

Ghost stills, carefully folding their lower set of hands across their lap. Weird hand thingies? Does she not know sign yet?

That's not something they're ready for, or even remotely prepared to deal with.

Flame, however, cackles loudly. "Shishther!" he chirps, poking his head out from Ghost's cloak. They try to shove him back in, yelping when he sinks needle-teeth into their hand.

**_Brat!_ **

"You wove me anyway!" he returns, and Ghost sighs because they can't refute that. They do love him. He's their baby brother, and they would murder for him. And he knows that.

**_Still rude to bite._ **

Hornet tilts her head to the side, now looking curious. "Are you thawking tho him?"

Ghost peers down at her. She's got a lisp. Must have just gotten her mandibles, then. They nod, and carefully form the hand sign for "Yes."

She carefully takes a step forward, reaching up to drag Ghost's clasped hands down into her vision. "Whath are you doing?"

**_Hand sign,_** Ghost thinks, but can't say. Gods, but they really wish they had a voice at times like these.

"Hand shign!" Flame chirps. Ghost's head shifts to peer at him, then stills slowly as a thought occurs to them. Their sibling is connected to them through the void. He can hear their words, and speak them out loud.

"Ooooh," she says, trying to sound like she understands. Ghost huffs a laugh and carefully draws out the Pure Nail, using it to scratch a word in the dirt. Hornet peers down at it, then at the sign Ghost is making. "Ish thhath thhish? Yes?"

She mimics the sign back, then goes still, frantically looking around. "Oh! I'm shupposhed tho find a ghoshth!"

Flame scrambles out of the cloak, spitting out a burst of flame. "Sibwing ish Ghoshth!" he crows victoriously, "And I'm Fwame!"

Ghost carefully gets to their feet, gently grabbing Flame and settling him back onto their shoulder. **_Ask her if she wants a ride,_** they think. They've got plans to check in on Herrah, make sure that she is fine after Godhome, and it would probably be easier on them if they show up with her daughter in tow.

"Sibwing ashwsh if shishther wanth ride," Flame repeats dutifully, frowning at the way the words are slurred. He's a higher being connected to the Nightmare Heart. He clearly doesn't appreciate having a lisp like a toddler.

**_You are a toddler,_** Ghost corrects lazily. **_You're younger than Hornet._**

The look Flame gives them for that statement would set them on fire if he could. Ghost cheerfully presses their mask against his face, nuzzling gently. **_We are a God of Nightmares and Fire,_** he hisses back, and they snort.

Hornet kicks them in the shin and Ghost's gaze snaps down. "Don'th ignore me!" she snaps, then reaches out her hands. "I am princeshsh of Deepneshth, and you wiww carry me!"

" _Yes, Princess,_ " Ghost signs, deeply amused. They drop down to one knee, letting her scramble her way up their back. She settles herself directly between their horns, clinging onto them.

Their brother cackles in their ears, lazily stretching across their shoulder. His legs dig into the back of their cloak and he spits out a burst of flame to light their way. Ghost hums lazily, idly reaching a hand up to make sure that she's steady. **_Where to, sister?_** they ask.

Flame parrots their question with a cackle. She giggles in a way they should perhaps find concerning. "To mama! I found a ghoshth!"

Ah. They're going to be a sacrifice to Herrah in an attempt to escape punishment for leaving with a weapon they probably shouldn't have. Ghost supposes that they should let her get away with this. Sibling bonding is important and all.

(It may also be the guilt of leaving her in Dirtmouth with their traumatized sibling, but Ghost is trying to not think about that.)

They lean around a corner curiously, watching as Deephunters and Deeplings skitter around in the darkness. As god of Shade and Shadow, the darkness no longer bothers them, the Lumafly lantern is no longer needed, and they find they quite enjoy the ambiance now that it's not so terrifying.

Sister directs them by tugging at the horns on their mask, pointing out the paths they need to take. They never knew there were so many hidden paths in Deepnest, paths they would have liked to know about during their first trek through the Beast's lands.

The Distant Village looms in front of them and they swallow nervously. "Come on!" Hornet demands, like they haven't been followed by a Weaverling for the past ten minutes. Ghost lets her lead them forward into the village proper, pretending that they aren't walking to their doom.

Here's to Herrah not murdering them when she sees her daughter perched on their head.

They hope. 


	28. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Distant Village.

This ghost is nervous.

Hornet pushes them in various directions, pointing out the correct path to take. Ghost follows obediently, ignoring the way there's several Deeplings and Deephunters following them. It might not be on Herrah's orders, but they know that having Hornet perched on their mask is making them wary. Already Ghost is aware of the way the inhabitants are just out of sight, skittering around above them.

Ghost carefully keeps their weapon untouched, Flame resting neatly on their shoulder, and all four arms hidden beneath their cloak. They follow their sister's orders promptly, neither arguing nor going against her demands. She chirps loudly, pointing towards where the main entrance to Herrah's Den lies.

They breathe in slowly, bracing themself as they walk towards the opening. The lights are burning, reflecting across the webbing of the nests. Ghost eyes the lack of platforms. Those that are there are few and far between.

Well, it's as good a time as any to learn how to fly, given that they not only have their father's wings but also Radiance's.

Assuming they can figure it out before they hit the ground far below, of course. Ghost peers down over the ledge, wincing slightly when Hornet yanks at the horns on their mask. "Sibwing, thawe pathh up!" she demands. They huff a breath and idly judge the distance between where they're standing. It's too far for them to make the jump, even with a single flap of their wings.

Getting over to that platform isn't going to be very fun, not with how far the distance is.

Hornet tugs at their horns again and chirps demandingly. "Sibwing hash tho fwy over," Flame snaps, twisting around their neck to climb up next to her. He spreads his own wings and flaps them lazily, gliding over to the next platform and settling onto it. Ghost can feel his amusement through the void and barely keeps from scowling.

Shaking their cloak out, they carefully pull out all of their wings. The glimmer of Radiance's former set is bright in the dim light of the village. They fan them lazily, and then frown.

They assume they'd have to vibrate them to float or fly, but the problem is. . . they don't know how to do that.

This isn't just a problem, it's a major one.

Gods, but this would be a very good time for the void to transfer the ability over to them. They did eat the Old Light, after all.

Quickly they think of Revak, the old ghost they'd met in the Resting Grounds. He'd been fiercely protective of the spirits under his guard, but they'd eventually managed to convince him that they weren't there to hurt any of them. That they just wanted him to speak a little of flying by vibrating wings. They think back on that information and vibrate the Old Light's tendrils as best they can, feeling the way the dust stirs beneath their feet.

He'd been right that it's not something easily done, that it takes time and practice that they don't have right now. Ghost curses and launches themself off of the platform. The vibrations of their wings push them higher and a single snap of the monarch wings is just barely enough for them to grab onto the platform above them with one hand.

Ghost hauls themself up halfway onto it with a grunt and comes face to face with a very sharp nail.

Herrah glares down at them, her very sharp blade leveled at their face. Ghost stares up at her, and the two others standing just behind her, feeling nervousness trickle down through their void. They're still half off the platform, legs partially dangling into the air below, and they swallow nervously.

"Mama!" Hornet chirps, leaping off of their head to scramble towards Herrah. "Loow! I found a Ghoshth!" Herrah's gaze shifts to Hornet, shoulders tight. She's clearly taking in both the presence of her daughter as well as the massive nail on her back.

It's times like these that Ghost really wishes they were better at reading body language. Sure, the mask thing is convenient for their own regards, but it makes reading emotions and movements very difficult. Especially when they're up against someone who hits like Traitor Lord with all the speed of Hornet.

Ghost's arms chose that moment to start aching and they huff a breath. Seems like their choice is made for them. They flare their wings and flap them sharply, giving them just enough height to pull themself up and over the edge of the platform.

Herrah leaps back several steps, snatching up Hornet and pointing her blade, but Ghost just flops there, face down. Apparently their new height comes with more than just fighting disadvantages. They've got a new weight to deal with, too. A weight they were not expecting in the slightest.

"You are . . . not the Pure Vessel," Herrah says at last.

They don't really want to move, but Ghost rolls over onto their back and then slowly sits up. Revealing all four of their arms is probably not a good idea, so they stick to the top two. She tenses when they slide them out of their cloak, but Ghost focuses on making their signing as neat as possible. " _They are our twin._ "

"Your twin." She doesn't sound like she believes them. Herrah very carefully moves Hornet so that she is between Ghost and their sister. They'd be insulted if they weren't so tired. Apparently having an emotional breakdown followed immediately by a lack of rest, topped off by hauling new body weight up a ledge is more than they're capable of handling currently. Ghost would be annoyed but right now they just want to pass out and sleep for a while. 

Hornet, however, has no such reservations about her elder sibling, and squirms down out of Herrah's arms. She bounces across the ground and crashes into Ghost's chest before anyone can stop her. They breathe out a little puff of air, their lower set of arms unfolding to catch her. " _You should be more careful, little sister,_ " they sign lazily before remembering that she won't understand.

A low rumble of danger escapes Herrah's throat and she immediately jams her blade right up against Ghost's throat. Hornet squeaks in alarm as she's hauled out of their lap. "Tell me, stranger," she hisses, and Ghost is very suddenly reminded of why she is the Spider Queen, nicknamed the Beast of Deepnest. "Tell me how you learned Deepnest's sign language."

They stare up at her for a moment, utterly bewildered. Deepnest's sign, what does she mean Deepnest's sign? It's the sign that Hornet showed them. Herrah is clearly waiting for an answer, though, one that Ghost doesn't know how to give. " _We were taught by someone dear,_ " they finally decide, seeing the way Herrah tenses up even further. " _She's gone now._ "

The Queen clearly doesn't believe them, but that's her problem, not theirs. Hornet had taught them all she knew, and she's gone now. All they have now is here, in this time. Ghost lets their shoulders sag with exhaustion and they sink down to the ground.

They're so tired.


	29. Interlude: Lurien

Art that was colored by [Tokyo](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/637516018818973696/) and drawn and lined by my dear friend [Maiden](https://gay-maiden.tumblr.com/) for chapter 27!

* * *

There are ghosts within the White Palace.

There are many, many, very little ghosts.

Lurien does not know how to handle these ghosts. Nor does he know what to do when they cry. He's not equipped to deal with little ones, not in the slightest. Neither is Grimm, for all the joy that knowledge brings the Watcher. Lurien would laugh, except he is in the same boat.

But fussing over the children is better than fussing over His majesty. Lurien will not admit how worried he is, but it's not that hard to see. It's so obvious he's been banned from His room, under orders from the Queen to relax a little. Lurien doesn't know how he can possibly relax when the one he loves is lying on His bed, injured gravely.

Gods, but when Grimm had teleported up to the top, His majesty lying so still, so pale, in his arms, Lurien is positive he stopped breathing out of fear. Even now, knowing that He is injured, but alive, oh so wonderfully alive, does not help. Not when all Lurien can think about is the sheer amount of blood spilling across chitin and flesh, the broken arm, the broken mandible. The way He lays so very still within his arms as Lurien barrels towards the White Palace, yelling for the Queen.

Even seeing His majesty's face for the first time isn't worth this sheer panic and worry. Lurien paces around his room in the palace, trying to not wear grooves into the floor in his worry. Both him and Grimm had been kicked out of the Pale King's rooms due to their incessant worrying, and while Grimm had retreated elsewhere, Lurien found himself in his rooms. With absolutely nothing to do.

Well, he could spend time with the vessels--the children, he corrects mentally. That's always an option, despite the fact that Lurien isn't very good with hatchlings. Still, it's far better than pacing a groove into the floor. His majesty has been in and out of consciousness for the last few days, switching rapidly from barely coherent to sleeping fitfully. The Queen--Camellia, she had told him, smiling gently, gods, he can't call her by her first name but she's _insisting_ \--had been healing Him as best she could. But there's only so much healing a body can take at one time, only so much before it stops accepting any more.

His majesty will recover. Eventually.

Lurien doesn't know if he can handle any other option coming to pass. At least, not emotionally.

But he can't stay here in this guest room forever. He can't hide away forever, letting his second in command run the City in his absence. Lurien reaches out for the door handle, swallowing tightly, then pulls it open. He strides out into the hall, glancing around. Nothing, no one, not even a sound. He is alone, by himself, and trapped within his own thoughts.

A chirp echoes down the hallway, pitched and amused, and Lurien's face snaps towards it. He tilts his head to the side in an attempt to better listen, and then starts tracking it. The halls are long and arched, easily allowing the sound to travel quite a distance. It's some time before he's able to pinpoint where it's coming from, and Lurien cautiously pokes his head into the room.

Grimm is there, surrounded by a group of children. He's performing tricks for them using his magic, conjuring fire that can be handled and various illusions. The little ones are chirping and clapping in glee, practically scrambling over each other to play with the flames. Lurien watches, feeling himself smile underneath his mask. Perhaps the little ones won't be as difficult to work with as he fears. Not if they're this interested in discovering the world.

He glances upwards at the sound of footsteps, moving out of the way of a newer child, this one wearing a reddish cloak. One of the few of the children who has actually chosen their name already. Charm, if he remembers right. They stride across the room with obvious purpose, gaze locked onto Grimm, and come to a halt in front of the Nightmare God. The flames in his hands die out as he glances down at them, moving to kneel when the little one waves their hands. " _Down!_ " they sign, rather imperiously. Lurien notes that their hand signs are rather sloppy, not the traditional Hallownest standard. Still understandable, though, and perhaps that is all that matters at this moment.

"And what do you want, little one?" Grimm asks, draping one hand over his bend leg. They motion him down a little lower, until they can clearly reach his head, and then stretches as best they can, their hand pressing down. Grimm starts, then slumps, a low echoing rumbling starting up in his chest.

It takes Lurien almost a full minute to realize that Grimm, the God of Fire and Nightmares, is _purring_.

Hastily, he shoves his hands up and under the mask, barely muffling his hysterical laughter.

The Nightmare King is glaring at him now, head still lowered enough that Charm can pet him, but tilted just so that he can level Lurien with a filthy scowl. Lurien turns away, shoulders shaking with mirth and glee as he tucks this tidbit of knowledge away.

Eventually Charm stops, pulls away, and the noise of disappointment that Grimm lets out sends Lurien back into gales of laughter. "I will get you for this," the God hisses. Lurien should be terrified, but it's honestly hard to be scared now that he's seen him purring in bliss.

Charm chirps and reaches to pet Grimm again, but he gently stops them. They make a displeased noise and stamp their foot. " _Sibling requested we pet the Nightmare King like they do his child,_ " they demand and it takes Lurien a moment to realize why their sign is so off. It's not Hallownest's sign they're using, it's Deepnest's sign. 

Lurien wonders where they learned that style of sign, especially since none of the other children have displayed the ability to use it. How oddly curious, given he's fairly certain that Charm has never been to Deepnest. He hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the chin of his mask in contemplation. The more he learns about His majesty's children, the more questions he winds up with. Rather intoxicating, for a scholar such as himself.

He strides forward and settles himself down in the center of the room, idly making sure that the little ones are all paying attention to him. Grimm is still sulking about being laughed at, and Lurien decides it's probably better to ignore him. No matter, he doesn't really need the Nightmare King's assistance.

"I think it's probably better if you are all taught sign sooner than later," he says, easily, and watches as the hatchlings all perk up.

" _You mean learn, learn it?_ " Charm asks, and Lurien really doesn't know what they mean by that.

"We'll start with the basics, I think," Lurien decides, and then leads them through the alphabet, one letter at a time.

Charm visibly scowls. " _Can't they learn the way we did? Sibling projected it through Void!_ "

"Sibling did what now?" Lurien repeats, dumbly, because what in the King's Glow is this one talking about.

That is complete and utter cheating, he decides after Charm explains. And if Lurien spends the rest of that lesson nursing something strongly alcoholic, Grimm is, at the very least, kind enough to not comment.


	30. Herrah the Beast

There is a ghost in the Distant Village.

This ghost is talking rapidly, their hands flipping through signs as they attempt to explain how exactly they know Deepnest's personal sign language. Herrah narrows her eyes at them through her mask, carefully keeping her daughter from darting over and attempting to climb the rewards of her hunt.

Their hands slowly still, the signs becoming sloppy and harder to read. She leans in, watching as they drift down to the ghost's lap, unmoving. Their head drops lower, all eight of the eyes in their mask losing the glow of power.

Cautiously, Herrah pokes them with her nail. They topple over, smacking against the wooden platform with a thud, and do not move. The little child in their cloak, looking very much like a much younger Grimm, screeches loudly and flaps massive wings. Fire spills out of their mouth as they land on the collapsed ghost, and they nudge their mask frantically. "Sibwing!" the little one cries, and Herrah carefully pulls her nail back. She slides it into its sheathe and carefully leans down, gently pressing a hand to them.

Unconscious but still breathing. They seem to have passed out on her.

She frowns and shakes her head. Hornet is chirping loudly in response to the ghost's collapse, worry and fear clear in her tone. Odd, that her child would get so attached to someone so quickly, but then again. They had allowed her to ride on their horns without complaint, even going as far as listening to her orders.

The least she can do is give them a room to sleep in for the night.

Besides, Herrah has quite a few questions she'd like them to answer. And she can't get those answers if they're not awake and alive. Which is a shame, but what can one do?

Herrah waves a hand, carefully bundling Hornet back against her chest. She's wriggling furiously, screeching violently as she attempts to get away, and Herrah sighs and wraps her in webbing. Hornet wriggles even more furiously, but without a weapon she can't go anywhere. Not easily, at least. "Haul them up and give them a guest room," she says, watching as the two beside her immediately start forward. The little one snarls viciously at her, but she reaches down and snatches them up, too. "Come with me, child. We shall leave your. . . friend to rest."

"Sibwing sahd," the little grimm copy squeaks. They twist out of her grip with a burst of red flame, teleporting into view beside her, wings pumping. "Fwame thry tho hewp, buth shibwing ish shthubborn. Won'th weth Fwame hewp shibwing."

It takes her a moment to puzzle out their words, the lisp prevalent enough to make it difficult to understand. "Your sibling? You two are siblings?"

Flame, as that's apparently their name, nods rapidly, almost falling out of the air from the force of the motion. "Ghoshth ish owder shibwing, Horneth ish owder shishther!"

Hornet is their elder sister? Herrah stills mid-step, head swinging to stare at them. The only way they would be a sibling to her daughter is if they were the child of that bastard Wyrm. Except, they look so much like . . .

"Forgive me if I am wrong, but you greatly resemble a certain Nightmare God."

"Fathher," Flame says with a nod, like they're speaking a great secret. "Sibwing ashcended thwice, and we ashcended withh. Void thouched, thwice." Flame flips over, tilting their head to stare up at Herrah. They chirp a few times and spit fire, watching it fizzle out as it's smothered by Weaverlings. "Time ish irrewevanth when you are a god."

A god? The ghost is a god? A god by the name of Ghost, apparently, now that she's actually paying attention to what Flame has been saying. Honestly, considering who the godling's parents are, she probably shouldn't be surprised. Both the Queen and the King are gods in their own rights. "God of what? And what do you mean by 'time is irrelevant'?'" Herrah asks, eventually. Probably should be aware of what domains they hold before she accidentally intrudes on them.

The child smirks at her, void-stained mouth pulling back to reveal far more needle-teeth than should comfortably fit. "Sibwing ish god of dream and void, nighth and shadow." They drift closer, splaying their wings in an attempt to land on her arm. Their lower body is far more Wyrm-like than she remembers previous Grimmchildren to be, obviously an aftereffect of the changing by the very Void itself. Tiny legs tipped in sharp claws dig into the cloak there, cutting through and scraping against the chitin on her arm. Herrah grunts as they land fully--they're far heavier than she'd actually expected. 

Herrah glances to the side, snorting at the sight of the Head Captain of her Devouts hauling the godling on his back. He's cursing softly as he moves, two Weaverlings at his side being careful to keep Ghost slumped across his shell. She should probably lend a hand there, but it's far more amusing to watch him glare at her and spit curses in her general direction.

Hornet wriggles in her webbing, doing her best to squirm out of it. Herrah considers letting her go, letting her daughter scramble across the floor and climb onto the Ghost's unconscious form. If her child is distracted by her apparent sibling, then maybe she can send a letter to the Wyrm seeing if this Ghost really is his child.

Of course, she highly doubts that Flame would lie to her like that. Not given her reputation, that's for sure.

Flame lazily stretches out on her shoulder, yawning widely. They wriggle down and dig their legs into the webbing around Hornet. For a moment, Herrah wonders if they're going to cut her free, but then they snuggle in beside her, their wings wrapping in tight.

Her captain of the Devout Stalkers snorts at her as he passes by, crouching a little so the Weaverlings can push the ghost's horns through the opening. He shoves into the room, twisting so he can dump his cargo into the nest. The ghost crashes into the fabric, sending pillows and blankets flying, and just lies there, still. Flame leaps off of the webbing on her chest, yanking a squeak of complaint from Hornet, and dives into the nest with a shriek of delight, fanning wings and sending everything flying again. They cackle wildly, spitting bursts of fire that fizzle out into nothing, and settle down, curling up on the ghost's chest.

Herrah snorts softly and slips out of the room, mind whirling. She has a letter to write to that Pale Wyrm. And questions to ponder. Unbound by time, huh? She doesn't like the idea of what could happen that would make someone so desperate to unwind time itself.


	31. Flame

There is a ghost in the Distant Village.

Flame just wants his sibling to wake up already.

Admittedly, he knows they need the rest. Knows that they will feel better after several hours of sleep. Sleep that they haven't been getting ever since they first arrived in the ruined kingdom of Hallownest. If he's being entirely honest, Flame genuinely has no idea when the last time they slept was. They don't think they've ever seen them sleep once.

Which is bad. Very bad, now that Flame considers it. Their sibling is curled up in the middle of the nest, legs pressed against their chest. They're breathing slow and deep, cloak twisted to the side and showing the void of their hips and legs. No eyes are open on the blackness now, all closed in slumber. Flame nuzzles their throat, purring softly. 

Ghost doesn't so much as twitch. They curl up even tighter, pressing their face into the pillows in the nest, and let out a soft, gentle sigh.

He carefully lifts himself into the air, wings flapping almost silently. Sibling will rest for now, slumber until they're capable of waking up on their own. Of course, that leaves Flame on his own, bored and alone. He could set something on fire, if only because it's funny to watch people panic about fire that is completely under his own control, but sibling has already threatened to stop giving him tasty snacks if he does it here. Flame quite likes those tasty snacks that sibling gives him, even if they aren't quite the Troupe food he remembers. 

Poking his head out through the curtains, Flame carefully surveys the hallway. No one is around, an attempt by Herrah to let their sibling rest, but he is bored. Bored out of his mind, so much so that not even nudging the siblings is entertaining. Not even learning that Charm sent the image of an injured sire in an attempt to get Ghost to stop avoiding their emotions is interesting.

Flame wants to set something on fire. Badly. He grumbles loudly as he wriggles out of the room and flies down the hall. For a while there's nothing but him, dipping through the halls as he searches for anyone. Herrah is eventually found, in a large room with a bunch of other Deepnest residents. She's clearly talking to them, Hornet still strapped to her chest despite his sister's wrigglings.

Kicking the door down is a bit impossible at this size, and improbable given that he doesn't have legs to kick the door down with. Flame instead chooses to barrel into the room, shrieking as loudly as his tiny lungs can allow. Herrah starts, almost slipping as she spins around, and her gaze frantically scans the room. He cackles madly, spreading his wings to gently land upon the nearby chair back, letting his tiny legs dig into the shellwood for balance.

"You have your father's sense of humor," Herrah comments dryly, once she has stopped clutching her chest. Flame grins at her, taking the insult as the compliment it isn't.

"Thanw you," he tells her, grinning as wide as he can get.

Herrah narrows her eyes at him. "That was not a complement, Grimmchild."

He scowls at her, spitting fire at her fingers in a careful attempt to keep it away from sister. "Sishther noth Herrahchiwd, we are noth Grimmchiwd." Flame lashes his tiny tail back and forth, digging his claws into the fabric with a snarl.

She sighs, reaching a hand over to gently pat her wide-eyed daughter. Hornet is staring at the remaining bits of fire with rapt fascination, looking very much like she'd reach for the lingering sparks if she could. Flame resolves to show her how to spit fire at the earliest opportunity. She wouldn't be able to do it without soul, like he can, but magic can do anything with the proper motivation.

Arson is very good motivation.

"That is very fair, child," Herrah says, pressing her fingers up beneath her mask. She looks rather resigned to the situation, like she's given up trying to stop it and will just run damage control.

Good. Flame quite enjoys it when his shenanigans, in Ghost's words, aren't stopped. Without sibling awake, he's free to set as many things on fire as he likes, all without the risk of losing the extra treats. Of course, that won't stop sibling from giving him the disappointed stare as soon as they figure out what he's doing, but Flame figures he can look cute enough to get away with it if he tries hard enough. 

"Wanna pway withh shishther," Flame says, cheerfully. Herrah actually breathes in slowly, but then groans. She's clearly realized she doesn't have a good reason to deny him this wish. Her claws come up and she picks apart the webbing, letting Hornet scramble down to the ground. His sister bounces down, landing on the desk with a chirp. She spins in place, then scrambles down to the floor, her little legs sticking easily to the wood as she moves.

"Stay within this room, please. I really don't want to have to chase the both of you through the halls. Your elder sibling, Ghost I believe? Ghost is still sleeping and they need the rest." The unspoken _Wake them at your own risk_ hangs in the air like dangling blades, ready to pierce anything unlucky enough to stand below. Good thing that Flame doesn't have an plans to wake sibling up. They really need that rest far more than anyone else has realized. 

"Yesh, mama," Hornet chirps, bouncing up and down in place, and sounding very much like she's humoring her mother. No plans to misbehave here, not one bit. Flame likes her already. Having a sibling who is just as chaotic as he is, oh, it's turning out to be great fun.

Especially if he manages to give other people headaches. Massive headaches with his name written all over in brilliant red fire.

Herrah narrows her eyes slowly at them, but doesn't comment, instead turning her back to speak to a few others.

Time for him to be a very good brother, no matter the fact that he's younger, and teach Hornet how to set things on fire. Just like a good member of the Troupe would.


	32. Dryya

There are many ghosts within the White Palace.

Well, perhaps it would be better to refer to them as children.

That's what they are, after all. Her majesty's children. So many of them with all sorts of different personalities. Personalities that she didn't realize vessels could have. They're already displaying their own thoughts and opinions, each one having an idea that they cannot share since they don't speak.

But a few of them do, she later finds out when one with four horns comes up to ask her a question. Shield, they say their name is in very clumsy Hallownest sign, before they start asking questions about her weapon. Apparently they quite like the shape, the slim sharp length easy for her to swing around.

Deeply amused, and more than a little flattered, she lets them hold it. They clutch the handle with both hands, tiny fingers wrapping around it. It's a little too heavy for them to hold, given their small size and that they've never held a weapon before, but she finds she doesn't mind. In fact, they seem like they'd be quite the diligent student. Like their elder sibling was, all that time ago. She hums lazily, a smirk on her face that's hidden behind the mask, and glances down at Shield. "Tell you what. If you can haul that all the way to the training grounds like that, _without_ dragging it through the dirt, I'll teach you how to use it."

Shield's head snaps up and they haul her nail up a little higher, looking determined. She turns around and stalks towards the training grounds, not looking to see if they follow. No matter, since she can hear the pitter of their own feet against the stone paths. Occasionally they chirp in frustration, and she hears them grunt as they no doubt haul her nail up a little higher. Interesting, given that they have little to no experience in sign language, and even less in the handling of weapons.

She saunters into the training grounds, idly raising a hand in greeting to those already there. Ogrim is at the far end, barely visible but identified by his stench. He's probably working with some of the newer recruits being the most friendly and outgoing of the knights. Ze'mer isn't there today, most likely due to being with her beloved, but Isma and Hegemol both are. They're sparring in the largest ring, Isma darting back and forth underneath his mace. She's lightning fast, easily sliding behind him to slap the flat of her blade against his armor.

Hegemol glances up from the spar, hoisting his mace over one shoulder to wave a hand at her. "Greetings, Dryya!" he bellows across the field. "How goes your day so far?" Dryya waits till she's much closer to respond, easily dodging the swing Hegemol takes at her back. He guffaws loudly. Shield chirps behind her and both knights still, turning to look down at the little one by her side. Dryya glances down herself, feeling her eyes widen a little behind her mask. The little one is holding her nail triumphantly, not a single speck of dust coating the gleaming metal. They carefully hand the nail back to her, hilt first like a reasonable bug would, and she takes it, inspecting it carefully.

Just as she first thought. They didn't let it touch the ground once, despite how heavy it had to be for someone so unused to wielding a weapon. She slings it onto her back and glances at her fellow Great Knights. "Shield, this is Hegemol the Mighty and Isma the Kind. Isma, Hegemol, meet Shield. They are quite determined to learn how to fight."

Now that their hands are empty, Shield waves them to get their attention. " _Charm sibling,_ " they sign as best the can with their limited sign. " _Keep sibling no trouble._ "

Dryya thinks of Charm, who is already notorious for trying to get their hands on as many sharp things as possible, and winces. Given by the reactions of Hegemol and Isma, a twitch and a very strained smile, she's not the only one. The latest in their collection had been a rather sharp kitchen knife that had been confiscated by a twitchy head chef.

The White Lady had laughed herself sick at the news, much to the consternation of everyone else. Dryya can't bring herself to be annoyed, though. It's the first time her majesty has laughed since her husband was brought in, gravely injured. Since the Watcher had launched himself through the doors, arms full of unconscious Wyrm and stained with glowing hemolymph. He'd been nearly inconsolable himself, shaking violently enough that he'd almost dropped his precious cargo, tears smearing the single eyehole in his mask.

(In all the years that she's known him, Dryya has _never_ seen Lurien's third eye weep tears. Not until then.)

She drags herself out of her thoughts, watching as Isma carefully teaches Shield how to handle a blade. The kindly knight is gentle with them, showing the little one how to wrap their hand around the hilt of a practice blade. They turn a little away and swing it experimentally, watching with rapt fascination as it cuts through the air. Dryya huffs a breath and glances towards the gardens, where she knows the White Lady will be at this current time.

Hegemol sidles over to her carefully, or as carefully as one in massive armor can be. "If you wish to go spend time with her, none of us will begrudge you that," he says softly, not so much as glancing down at her. For all intents and purposes, he is watching a fellow Great Knight teach a youngling how to fight, not having a gentle heart to heart with the fiercest and most vicious of the group. "Ze'mer goes to see Freya, after all."

"Ze'mer isn't in love with the queen," Dryya hisses back quietly, barely keeping the aggression out of her voice. Hegemol shrugs at her, the movement making his armor clatter loudly in the silence. She flinches a little, turning her face to stare down at the ground. He settles a hand on her shoulder, gentle and soft.

Honestly, he should have gotten the title of 'Kind' rather than Isma. Isma's a stone cold bitch, absolutely ready to fuck someone up if given a good enough reason. There's a reason why Ogrim does all the diplomatic missions, despite his smell being rather offensive to most.

Dryya settles her rapid heartbeat, gives one last glance to Hegemol--who is resolutely still not looking at her--and turns to go to the gardens.


	33. Interlude: Tiso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an interlude cause im not feelin' my best rn

There are no ghosts within Fog Canyon.

Tiso wouldn't notice any if there were, anyway.

He's too busy starting at the prettiest bug he's ever seen in years. His sister had always been the pretty one of the two of them, lauded by the rest of the colony as the future queen, and he'd always been her shadow. Lower tier, doomed to be nothing more than a simple worker for his entire life.

His sister, Xena, had left shortly after she'd been named as future Queen. She'd wanted nothing to do with that trash, leaving the colony after a rather explosive argument. Tiso hadn't been able to follow her, hadn't wanted to at the time being still stuck in the colony mindset, but he's here now.

Here in Hallownest. In a kingdom ravaged by infection coming from a slighted moth goddess. At first he is disappointed, confused, and angry. The Radiant Light is benevolent and kind to those who follow Her. Of course she would retaliate when Her people have been stolen from Her. But as he walks, gets lost, finds new places, he listens to the people speak and can't help but frown. This version of Her is spiteful and cruel, retaliating against a king who didn't even steal Her own moths. They chose to follow him, to walk in his light.

He gave the bugs homes, food, places of learning and knowledge, kingdoms of their own in some cases, and a language. She expected them to serve Her will, to give Her everything and gain nothing in return. Small wonder that they chose him in the end.

Walking allows him to think, no matter the fact that Tiso doesn't like the--what were they called, Stag Stations?--yes, Stag Stations. He doesn't like them. Too loud, too many bugs, too much vibration that shakes his chitin and makes his fangs rattle against his mandibles. Reminds him far too much of the crowded colony tunnels and he gets so wrapped up in his thoughts that he forgets how to breathe.

A rather unfortunate symptom in such a warrior as himself. A shield by his side, its razor sharp whip tucked away between the segments, and a confident strut in his steps. He is proud of his power, of his ability in battle.

Tiso is many things but capable of speaking to others without getting flustered, and turning rude in defense, he is not. Rather unfortunate, given that the pretty bug in front of him is now glaring at him through the eyeholes of their mask.

(What he wouldn't give for an ability to erase the last thirty seconds from existence. Please.)

"Ah," he hastily corrects, attempting to backtrack without actually apologizing for it. "I did not say that you were weak yourself, just that it's rather dangerou-"

The pretty bug snaps the book shut, leaps to their feet, and slams it as hard as they can into the side of Tiso's skull. He stumbles, hitting the ground with a thud and a choked off curse, hands leaping upwards to cradle his aching head. His hood is still in place, thank the Gods for small mercies, and he peers up at the scowling bug. "Dangerous," they huff. "I regularly make trips from here to the Stag Station just to get to the City of Tears!"

"I hate to tell you this, no wait, I don't, but there is nothing in this area but those damn exploding jellyfish."

"Ooma. They're called Ooma," they hiss icily, carefully checking their book over for damage. Rude, considering that they just clocked Tiso upside the skull with it.

"They suck," Tiso retorts. He's not wrong either, given that he'd made the mistake of chucking his shield at one that came too close, before promptly diving for cover. The glowing core had barely missed him, whizzing over his head as he hits the ground, and crashing into the wall behind him with a vicious, orange-tinted explosion.

Lesson learned, don't mess with the jellyfish. The cores weren't even tasty enough for him to bother learning how to collect them without detonation. Sour and tangy and nothing like the succulent savory taste of the mushrooms Tiso so favors.

The bug shrugs at that, looking a little sheepish. "I can't deny that. They're not fun even if you do know how to deal with them." Tiso gives them a flat look and they splutter a little. "Look, sometimes they overpopulate and the Madam sends a few of us out to get rid of them. Oh! I've been rude. I'm Quirrel."

"Tiso," he says, grabbing their hand and hauling himself to his feet. "You hit hard for a scholar."

"A scholar and a gentleman," Quirrel says, sounding like they're quoting something. What, Tiso doesn't know. He's not one for the books himself, having little to no interest in anything that isn't a battle. Comes with growing up in a colony, he supposes. He was born and raised to be a warrior.

"Fitting, considering that we're near the--" he glances up at the building "--Archive." Tiso crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, smirking at the other. His fangs glint in the drifting light. "Speaking of going places, you wouldn't happen to know of a place with an arena, would you?"

Quirrel peers down at him. "An arena? Any reason why?"

So he can find his sister. "Though few could truly challenge me, I'm hoping this arena presents the sort of brutal challenge I'm after."

"Uh huh," Quirrel says, not sounding at all like they believe him.

Dammit. Tiso is just going to have to suck it up and ask. He palms his shield, the last thing he has of a friend long dead, meant to protect him even though they're gone. "I'm looking for someone. She likes to fight, so when I heard there was an arena here, I thought I'd check. But I keep getting lost in this damn maze."

"The caverns aren't that bad, my friend." Quirrel snorts, but manages to keep from laughing. They turn and glance down the hall Tiso had came from, peering at it carefully. "You're in the complete wrong area of Hallownest for the Coliseum. That's in Kingdom's Edge, far to the right."

Tiso registers those words with the sense of calm that only comes before a heavy storm. Damn. Double damn. Triple damn.

If his sister ever learns how lost he got, no matter the fact that he met a hot bug in the process, she'll never let him hear the end of it.


	34. Ambrosia

There is a ghost within the White Palace.

This ghost slumbers fitfully, collapsed within a nest. Their chitin is broken, torn, cracked. Their mind is shattered, ruined, shredded. Everything is wrong and right and nothing and everything. They barely recognize themself, much less remember who they actually are. For a while, they drift in the darkness, just barely aware of the world around them. It burns, brilliant and bright and painful. They turn away from it, only stopping when the pain becomes too much.

Then they wake up. Eventually. It's like dragging ones legs through thick mud, as high as the waist. They barely know where they are, much less who they are. Exhaustion threatens to drag them back down, back into the comforting abyss that is the darkness. They force their eyes open, despite how much it burns.

There is someone leaning over them, pretty beyond belief, with eyes as brilliant as gemstones.

Hello, they think, and try to reach a hand up to touch their face. Their body does not move, does not respond to their command, and they slump against the nest. The person leaning over them says something, they can see their mouth move, but they don't hear anything. They sink back under, but they can feel a hand grab their own and squeeze.

They sleep.

They do not dream. Or if they do, they don't remember.

They wake up.

It's a little clearer today. Their mind is a little less foggy, a little less like they'd taken a ball of glitter and shaken it up until it's no more than a storm of color.

They are not a they, they are a he.

The bug with the gemstone eyes is still there, though, sitting gracefully at the end of his nest, their legs neatly crossed. He manages a weak noise, soft and gurgled, and their head spins around, locking eyes with his own.

Oh, how gorgeously pretty those eyes are. How easily he gets lost in their glittering depths.

They scramble to their feet and hurriedly cross the small distance, moving to press a clawed hand against his forehead. He still can't hear their words, or make his throat work in any capacity other than garbled noises, but the touch of their hand feels very nice against his face. He leans into it with a soft huff, feeling his already hooded eyes slide closed.

Darkness consumes him like a crashing wave, and he slips under without complaint. Sleep is a chance to escape the pain that wracks his body, tears through his limbs and leaks out with his blood. He finds himself drifting in the darkness, letting himself curl up now that moving doesn't feel like fire.

(Something red flickers in the corner of his eyes, a pattern like a flower wrapped within a circle. He knows this shape, knows who it belongs to, but he does not know who they are. It's intensely familiar, though.)

(Same goes for the flickering third eye that occasionally checks up on his dreams. It gleams a brilliant shade of purple, endless and lined by gold. He knows this, knows them, does not remember.)

(The white lines curling through his dreams are also known, so much more so than the other two. He knows this, knows them, _loves them so much,_ and does not remember them.)

(He loves all of them, oh so very much, in a way that makes his heart hurt at the thought of them being gone.)

He wakes up.

It's dark.

His room, at least he assumes it's his room, is empty. The pretty bug with the gemstone eyes is not there.

Some emotion sweeps through him, so strong that it rattles him to his core, and it takes a moment for him to place a label on it. Disappointment. He's disappointed that they're gone. He wanted to see them again, despite not knowing anything but how pretty they are. He wants their hands in his, their face pressed against--

The door to his room creaks suddenly. He manages to turn his head to the side enough to see it moving, pushing slowly open so as to not attract attention. A tiny head pops into the room, so small that he could probably tuck them against his chest and rock them to sleep, despite the fact that he is small even for a bug.

They glance around quickly and then scramble across the floor, the pitter-patter of their feet faint even to his ears. Their mask is rather boxy, with a sharp horn on each side, curling upwards, and their cloak is a shade of deep blue. He watches as they look quickly around, not seeming to realize that he's aware of them being there, and they let out a soft chirp.

Two others immediately respond, and then two more little ones pop into the room. They're almost exact copies of the first little one, the only difference being the slight changes to their horns.

He has the sudden immense urge to protect them. He does not know where this urge came from, or why he has it, but it's there.

The little ones close the door behind them and let out soft, relieved chirps. He huffs a breath and is deeply amused when they spin around, staring at him. Horror, he assumes, given that their masks mean he can't see their eyes or face.

In fact, they're so horrified that the smallest of the three, so small that his heart aches, begins to shake. Their cloak trembles, the other two immediately drawing rank around them, and he finds himself softening before he realizes it.

He is alone in this bedroom. Perhaps having someone else here will help him sleep better.

He nudges back the blankets as best he can, carefully patting the edge of the nest. They glance at each other, chirping softly for a while. He settles back in the nest, listening as the little ones chatter to each other as they scramble to crawl into the pile of blankets and pillows. The smallest one chirps softly at him, something that registers faintly as a greeting, and he returns it as best he can. They curl up against his chest on his right side, their sibling on his left, and the third one drapes across his belly. 

He watches them for a moment, as they nuzzle down and go to sleep, and nestles down himself, feeling oddly proud. His to cherish and protect.

(His children. He doesn't remember.)


	35. Hallow

There are ghosts upon ghosts within the White Palace.

Usually, they can be found piled within the nest.

But sometimes they split off into different groups, finding their own way within the White Palace. Shield has taken to spending time in the training grounds, their shellwood training nail crashing against Isma's blade. She's taken to training them with great glee, resulting in Shield often stumbling into the nest and passing out as soon as they hit the pillows.

(Hallow had been forced to have a Talk with her about not bruising their sibling. Shield may be capable of taking hits, and healing up with the Palace's hot springs if things go too far, but that didn't mean they _should_ take those hits.)

Charm can often be found at the training fields as well, though for much less safer reasons. Ever since their stash of sharp things had been confiscated, they've been doing their level best to escape with as many nails as possible from the training grounds. Hegemol and Ogrim have been an unexpected barrier, though, making it very difficult for their sibling to snatch up anything sharp. Yet.

Hallow has never been so thankful for the foul smelling knight in their life. If only because it makes it so much easier for them to show their siblings, and Hallow quotes this, the 'cool pure magic that father does'. At least two of their smallest siblings have taken to it with alarming ease: by the end of the day they're throwing around full blown balls of glittery light like they're toys. Another unnamed sibling had gone after them with a mad cackle, filling the ball with void and making it explode in a loud, brilliant explosion of sparks. Those sparks had remained for quite some time, licking the edges of the circle with little flames before dying out into embers.

They would be more alarmed, but it had given two more of their siblings names. Spark, the smallest vessel with horns that point downwards in the opposite of the unnamed triplets, and Ember, their twin. They'd both been fascinated by the glittering flames and glowing magic, and were now in the process of replicating it. But on a larger scale. Hallow feels like they should be concerned.

On the other hand, someone else will be dealing with them once they inevitably make something explode, most likely mother. Hallow isn't sure if they should hide immediately or make themself comfortable for the show.

Both, maybe. They should probably grab their siblings that _aren't_ causing trouble and get out of the way before their mother sees the mess the training grounds have become. She's bound to come around that corner shortly, after fetching a few more of their siblings from the gardens they've been playing in. Hallow lunges forward and bundles up three of their siblings, watching as Lief pushes Brook away from the impending doom.

Mother sweeps into the garden with all the grace of a whirlwind. She's got two siblings tucked under her arms, a third riding on her shoulder and looking rather pleased. "Hallow, my child," she calls, then skids to a halt when she sees the mess. Ember and Spark go very still, their heads whipping around to stare at her, the evidence of the explosion impossible to deny. There are scorch marks and pockmarks all over the ground, half the grass is singed and torn away, and they are in the very center of it all.

She breathes in very slowly and reaches a free hand to press up against her mask. "What. . . are you two doing?" Her gaze sweeps across Hallow, Nail and Shield and Charm within their grasp, and the way Lief is pushing Brook farther back. "Do I even want to know what you're doing?"

Hallow carefully sets down all three of their siblings. " _Probably not,_ " they sign. " _But siblings are making explosions._ "

"Here?" mother asks, now rather alarmed. She stills and glances at the palace, then sighs heavily. "I suppose it is better than attempting it within the palace, like _someone_ I can name." 

That barb is no doubt aimed at their father and his ridiculous lab experiments. The ones that have a bad tendency to explode when he's running on far too many ideas and far too little sleep. Hallow has seen him stumble out of there, coated horn to foot in soot, more than a few times. Occasionally he's even passed out within there, the locked door keeping anyone and everyone from entering. 

At least out here in the training fields, the twins can be supervised. Mother seems to realize this, too, given the way she sighs and lets it slide. "I will allow this with three rules. One: you always do it out here on the training field. Two: you _always_ have someone supervise. Three: you come get me if you get hurt. I do not care what I'm in the middle of, come get me." She pauses for a second, then hums. "Actually, any nearby adult will do for that last one."

The twins stare up at her, then glance at each other. They nod a moment later, scrambling forward to latch onto their mother's body and hug her, chirping their glee.

Gods, but mother has definitely enabled them. Hallow groans under their breath, utterly resigned to the fact that they count as an 'adult'. They've molted enough times, have reached their final height, and they know for a fact their siblings will count them as a reasonable replacement for one of the actual adults.

If only because Isma is terrifying, Ze'mer is currently out of the White Palace (though there are bets on when she'll return), Ogrim has a bad tendency to cave at sad gentle eyes, Hegemol is a stickler for the 'No explosives' rule, and the last time the twins tried to make something explode Dryya had given them the biggest lecture of their lives.

Hallow is not looking forward to being the adult to their shenanigans. They consider shoving the twins towards their father, if only so that they can all be explosive disasters together, but then abandons the thought. Their father lies in his nest, barely conscious for most of the time. He's loopy, foggy, and all together more affectionate that Hallow has ever experienced. 

They wish it hadn't come from their sibling's wrath, though. Their twin, if they're remembering correctly. The twin they let fall all that time ago, tumbling to the bottom of the Abyss with a shriek of despair.

Hallow turns their gaze towards Spark and Ember, watching as they chirp wildly while setting patches of grass on fire. Mother stands beside them, covering her mouth as she laughs. She glances down at them, her eyes twinkling even through the lenses of the mask, and leans in close in a conspiratorial whisper of, "Your father is going to love them."

Hopefully father will love their twin, once he recovers enough that he can recognize others. As soon as they can, Hallow will go searching. Their sibling should get to come home, too.


	36. Grimm

There is a ghost within the White Palace.

Or, to be more precise, he is a God.

A God of fire and flame, of nightmares and the creeping night. The perfect opposite to his now deceased sister. A sister that he doesn't mourn quite as much as he should, though perhaps it's because she has long since earned this contempt.

God of flame, Master of the Troupe bearing his own name, and here he is, playing entertainer to a group of children.

He'd complain, except Lurien has been side-eying his tricks and illusions all evening, looking very interested. In fact, at one point the Watcher had even shifted his mask slightly, allowing his two normally hidden eyes to come into view. They're a very pretty shade of purple, the glitter of an amethyst underneath running water. A gorgeous compliment to Ambrosia's silver gaze.

How he managed to fall in love with two completely different bugs, Grimm has no idea. Ambrosia and Lurien are completely different in personality, and even the color of their chitin is the exact opposite. While the Wyrm's is pale, glittering, and shiny in the light, Lurien's is as dark as the night. A sharp tongue and a no nonsense attitude, combined with a work ethic that would put most bugs to shame compared to a shy, gentle butterfly who vastly prefers solitude to being in the company of others.

And yet he is here, in the palace, all due to his worry for Ambrosia.

Grimm can work with this.

(Divine and Camellia will laugh themselves sick if he messes this up.)

At some point the children tire, their excitement draining away to little chirps and yawns. Camellia pokes her head into the room, relaxing when she sees that they're still there. "My children," she says, attracting their attention, "it's time for bed. Come along, the rest of your siblings are already at the nest." The four little ones get to their feet and make their way over to her side, one even reaching up to grab at Camellia's skirts. She bends down to pick them up, settling the little one on her hip with ease. They chirp at her, yawning widely beneath their mask. "Oh," Camellia says, soft and gentle, "you're very tired, aren't you?"

Lurien huffs a laugh from where he's been pretending to read for the last two hours. "It's unsurprising that they're tired. They've been listening to the Troupe Master babble for the entire evening." He snorts when Grimm snarls in his direction, jaw peeling open to reveal lots of sharp teeth.

"I'll have you know that they were absolute darlings," Grimm purrs dangerously.

"Considering that your children are hell spawns, you would know."

Camellia visibly rolls her eyes despite the mask. "That's enough you two. If you're going to flirt with each other, at least wait until my dear Wyrm is awake to join in."

Grimm whirls to hiss at her, now mortified. Lurien snaps his book shut with a sound akin to a death toll. "Flirting?" he asks. Grimm turns slowly to face him, wondering if he'll be hunted down for escaping with a teleport. He glances to the side, towards a Camellia who has shifted her mask enough to give him a feral smile.

She settles her mask back into place and pushes open the door, neatly herding the three small children by her feet through. "I'll leave you two alone to talk," she says, smugly, and never before has a sentence sounded like a death threat. Grimm would be impressed if he wasn't feeling like she'd just stabbed him in the chest.

"Flirting?" Lurien repeats, now sounding rather dangerous. For a moment, Grimm is reminded how the Watcher isn't just a pretty face. He's also a terrifying magic based powerhouse, far above most mortal bugs. No match for a god, but still.

If Lurien really wanted to, he could easily cause some rather painful wounds that Grimm would prefer to not deal with.

"Ah, well, yes" Grimm says, eloquently, like he's a common bug and not the Troupe Master and holder of the Nightmare Flame. He slowly turns around, smile frozen in place, and comes face to face with a bristling butterfly. "That does tend to happen when you like someone."

Lurien splutters, taking a visible step back. "I--" He tries to find his words, visibly stunned despite the mask on his face. Grimm leans forward, leering. Lurien drops his head, shoulders hunching inwards, and covers his face with his hands. He whines, low and quiet, and Grimm can't help the snort that escapes him.

"Camellia is never going to let me live this down," he sighs out, rubbing at his eyes.

"She knew from the beginning, didn't she?" Lurien asks, the words muffled through his hands. "I hate her."

Grimm huffs a breath, completely understanding the sentiment. "Do you think we can sneak in and check on Ambrosia while she's busy?"

The Watcher visibly perks up, his wings fluttering visibly beneath his robe. "Oh, yes, let's. It'll help me feel a lot better knowing that he's at least all right. My anxiety has been bothering me all day." He shuffles his wings and carefully opens the door, peeking down the hallways. Grimm leans over his shoulder, making sure that the coast is clear.

They scramble down the halls quickly, Lurien leading the way since Grimm doesn't know the exact location. He carefully pushes the door open, peeking into the room, and stilling immediately. Grimm pushes in past him, letting his gaze cast about the room. There's no reason for Lurien to have stopped like that, except. . .

Oh.

Grimm finds himself stilling as Lurien steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

Ambrosia lies in the nest, blankets curled up around him, and there are three of the children splayed across his slumbering form. His head is tilted to the side and Grimm can hear his breathing, long and slow and deep. He gently reaches and presses his hand against a pale face, watching as the Wyrm leans into the touch. His eyes flicker open and Grimm smirks down at him. "Go to sleep, pretty king, we're just checking up on you."

"You are?"

"Yes."

Ambrosia sighs very softly, his silver eyes slipping shut again. "M'kay. Love you both," he murmurs as he drifts off, and Grimm feels the world drop out from beneath him.


	37. Ghost

There is a ghost within the Distant Village.

This ghost is exhausted, dragging themself up out of their slumber. Despite sleeping, they still feel off. They're less exhausted, sure, but anger now boils beneath their chitin.

They do _not_ like being lied to.

Charm, their sibling, someone they trusted, had _lied to them_. To their face, even.

Ghost doesn't know what they're going to do about this. They hadn't even been aware they could do that, that they're so intimately connected with the void that sleeping gave them this connection. That they could experience the world through their sibling's eyes.

That they would see their father, awake and alive and far less injured than Charm had made him out to be.

Admittedly, he is definitely off. Far more tired, and his sheer lack of reaction to three siblings busting into his room had been interesting. Ghost isn't sure how to feel about him immediately attempting to parent them, allowing the triplets to slumber draped across his damaged frame.

They want to be angry. They _are_ angry. Their void is bubbling, boiling, crashing against the chitin of their shell. Rage chokes their throat, makes their hands spasm and clench, their tail thrash from side to side beneath their cloak, their wings bristling violently. As soon as they get their hands on Charm, they're going to throttle their sibling. Probably attempt to drown them in the void. Forget murdering Flame for being a loudmouth, Charm is going to be the first one to go.

(So this is what it's like to be the eldest sibling. Ghost doesn't like the feeling of responsibility, of not murdering their siblings out of sheer fury.)

The ceiling above them is thick with webs, crawling and climbing back and forth in a dizzying pattern. They find their eyes tracing those paths while their mind whirls and twirls, just staring blankly up until something crashes through the cloth-covered doorway. Ghost sits up rapidly, peering out of the nest to watch as the intruder skids across the floor in a whirl of color and snarls.

It's also screaming. Loudly.

Ghost gets to their feet and reaches down into the mess of seething wrath and separates them forcefully. Hornet dangles from one hand, her tiny red cloak ragged around the edges. Her mask is cracked, tiny shards digging into her face just barely enough to draw blood. She's screeching in a furious rage, tiny hands curled into claws that she swipes through the air in an attempt to get down. They glance at their other hand, sighing heavily when they realize that Flame dangles there. He's hissing, teeth fully bared at her, all of the legs on his tiny tail splayed out in aggression. Blood curls around his teeth, and he's got an impressive set of claw marks across his face, including a rather obvious set of teeth marks on his arm that perfectly match Hornet's own. Fire curls around his mouth, spilling out between the gaps in his teeth, and Ghost shakes that hand hard. _No,_ they think, sharp and cutting, and he wilts in their grip immediately, the flames dying away.

"He bith me!" Hornet wails at the top of her lungs, and Ghost is struck with the urge to go back to sleep and not move for the next week.

"She bith me firshth!" Flame screeches in return, puffing up indignantly despite being held like an unruly brat. Ghost levels them both with a glare, watching as they immediately wilt and fall silent.

" _Why are you both like this?_ " Ghost signs, watching as the brat's eyes immediately focus on their lower set of hands. Flame looks appropriately chastised, his red eyes hooded and teary at the edges. Hornet, despite not knowing what they've said, has apparently decided that copying him is the better idea. She's wilted too, head lowered but still tilted just enough she can see his reactions. Ghost would be proud if they weren't already annoyed.

Perhaps they should just go meet up with Herrah. Leave her to dish out the proper punishment. That sounds like a good idea. They smile down at the two, their mask cracking to reveal their teeth. Flame squeaks in fear, immediately shrinking in their grip, trying to look as small as possible. "Fwame wovesh big shibwing!" he tries, giving them giant, pleading eyes.

They don't so much as twitch, instead turning to stride out of the room. Herrah has to be around here _somewhere_ , if only because Ghost is probably going to murder the both of them if they don't find her soon. They tilt their head to the side and chirp down the hall, listening to the way it echoes in return. Somewhere that way, it tells them, the void curling within their shell. They follow it, occasionally calling out again in the hopes of getting an answer.

Ghost still jumps when Herrah pokes her head out of a nearby doorway, clearly looking around in an attempt to spot them. They wave their lower hands, attracting her attention, and they can visibly see the moment she spots the two brats dangling in their upper grasp. She slumps, all six arms covering her face at once, and groans loud enough to echo in the hall. "What have they done _this_ time?" Herrah asks, and Ghost blinks at her resigned tone.

" _They woke us up, by fighting. And apparently tried to take chunks out of each other at some point. They're both bleeding._ " Ghost huffs a breath and scowls down at the two. Flame spits a tiny bit of fire that curls up into a heart shape. They consider dropping him, but know full well he'd use that to escape their wrath.

Herrah peers at them carefully, then reaches out and takes Hornet. She huffs a breath when her daughter struggles to escape, and tucks her into the webbing wrapped against her chest. "I can only apologize for my daughter, seeing as that little menace over there is _your_ sibling."

" _And Hornet's brother, despite your best hope otherwise._ " Ghost snorts at the way Herrah visibly twitches. " _For the record, we apologize for any fires he has started while we slept._ "

She waves them off. "He didn't start too many issues. Mostly played with Hornet, though they have definitely squabbled."

Hornet wrangles herself free from the webbing enough to howl, "I'ww bithe you again! Come near me and I'ww do ith! I shwear!"

" _What did you do to her, Flame?_ " Ghost signs down, making sure to glare him into submission. He visibly winces and then teleports, vanishing in flames that lick at their fingers. They would panic, except they can still feel him as he materializes again above them, landing gracefully on their shoulder. " _You are a menace, little brother._ "

"Fwame wovesh shibwing," he coos again just to be a brat, nuzzling at their face. They consider pushing him off of their shoulder.

Herrah hums softly as she carefully patches up Hornet's scratches, her mask tilting upwards just so that Ghost can see her eyes. "Why do you only use sign, Sun Eater?"

They still, hands folding beneath their cloak. Their wings shift, vibrating with nervousness. " _We do not understand."_

"Your sire is the Wyrm. You should be able to wield the same telepathy that he does." She neatly taps a finger against her chin, body language revealing nothing. "Though, perhaps, given that you punched him hard enough to break his mask, you probably prefer not to use it."

Ghost is really starting to wish they'd learned this a long time ago. Telepathy. That would not only solve their Deepnest Sign problem, but also make it easier for anyone to be able to understand them. They rub their face and attempt to not scream internally.

Judging by the way Herrah is now laughing at them, they're not doing a very good job of hiding it.

She reaches into her cloak and pulls out a letter, carefully flipping it over in her hands. "If Flame is correct, that you plan to travel through the kingdom, would you be willing to take this to the Hive for me? I'd send one of my own, but the last time I sent someone to the Hive, they almost drowned in honey." She shoots a glare at the door and someone squeaks, abandoning their post to flee their queen's glare.

" _We can do this,_ " Ghost agrees, reaching out to take the letter and tuck it into their void. They weren't planning on going to Kingdom's Edge, but perhaps it would be a nice change of pace. Perhaps they would find a peace there that they didn't have currently.

For whatever reason, the void is urging them to go. Deep in Kingdom's Edge, they'll find something important.


	38. Quirrel

There are no ghosts within Fog Canyon.

Quirel would like to think that there aren't, at least. Not anymore. He hasn't seen that tiny ghost in quite some time.

Though, with the way Tiso keeps getting lost in various places, he's not sure how long that will last. Quirrel has already had to stop the ant from walking down paths into hunting dens, places that bugs walk into and don't come out again. Tiso does have a shield, and it clearly has a special, deadly surprise neatly hidden away. He's not sure he wants to be on the receiving end of whatever that surprise is.

"Get moving, scholar," the ant snaps, as he crawls over a particularly steep rock. Quirrel rolls his eyes beneath his mask, easily leaping over the entire thing to land gracefully on the other side. Tiso stares at him, expression of surprise clearly visible despite his hood. "You. How did you _do_ that?"

"I think you'll find, Warrior," Quirrel returns, because he can be just as petty. Monomon may have chased him out of the Archives with a terrifying glint in her eyes (as well as a rather cryptic message about 'finding a place' or whatever she meant), but that doesn't mean he has to be nice to the ant despite playing guide. "I think you'll find that soul magic is far more common here than wherever it is you came from."

Tiso makes an expression of distaste, hood just pushed back to make it readable. "Soul magic? No thank you. A warrior such as myself doesn't need such a crutch."

At this point, Quirrel is pretty convinced that Tiso says that just to make himself sound tougher, not that he actually believes such a statement. "Uh huh," he says anyway, trying to keep his expression out of his body language. The dirty look Tiso gives him says he doesn't succeed, but he supposes he doesn't particularly care. "You do realize that you either take the Stag Stations or get around manually, right? And that some areas, like the Fungal Wastes, require large jumps through soul magic or straight up flight?"

The ant stares at him and then groans, reaching under his hood to rub at his face. He shakes his shoulders and large, gossamer wings splay out from underneath the cloak on his back. "I didn't think I'd need these all the damn time," Tiso mutters, sounding rather sour about the situation. "Not after the Howling Cliffs, at least. Guess I'll just keep them out, then."

Quirrel huffs a breath, idly crossing his arms as he judges the distance between the next rock and him. He presses his mandibles together under his mask and pulls up the soul, letting it course beneath his chitin. A half-step forward and the world blurs before him, the rock rushing towards him rapidly. He lands gracefully upon it, a hand upon the nail against his side, and Quirrel turns to see Tiso gaping openly at him. The ant quickly disguises it, ducking his face and turning to the side, a hand covering the little bit of his face still uncovered.

So Tiso might be harboring a slight crush on him. Interesting. And absolutely terrifying. Quirrel feels himself flush beneath his mask, knowing that he has absolutely zero idea how to do this. No one has ever been interested in him like this before. Usually he's having to chase after others. And after a few, rather disastrous courting attempts, he's long since given up on this sort of thing.

No wonder the madam had cackled at him when he'd tried to offer any other of the scholars from the Archives as a guide. Quirrel's going to switch her tea with something decaffeinated when he gets back. And maybe hide all of her honey cakes. If he's feeling particularly petty, he might even ransom the things back to her.

This trip, being Tiso's guide all the way out to Kingdom's Edge, has suddenly gotten a lot harder than Quirrel ever expected.

He turns away from the ant, feeling his emotions nervously vibrate beneath his flesh and chitin. Gods, but it's a few days trip without the Stag Stations, especially when one has to climb all the way up to the top of Kingdom's Edge. Tiso hadn't said much about who he is searching for, other than it's a she and that she likes to fight. Sounds like he's looking for the Coliseum of Fools, and if she's there, then she must be one strong fighter. "The Coliseum, I think."

"Huh?"

Quirrel almost rolls his eyes. _Almost_. "The Coliseum of Fools. A lot of bugs go there to fight, most don't come back. But when you're pitted against Oblobbles and Mawleks, I'm not surprised." He pauses and peers back at Tiso, being careful to not outright say there's a chance she's dead. "If she's as good a fighter as you say she is, then the Lord of Fools may have taken her on as a Tiered fighter."

Tiso moves a little closer, peering down at him. Quirrel does not appreciate that the other is taller than him. "Tiered fighter?" he asks, and the sneer is gone from his voice. Clearly he's finally realized that he has to be nice to the guide.

"Top level fighters can gain a sponsor from one of the City of Tear's nobles. That sponsor will pay to upkeep gear and make money off of betting on the fighter. But sometimes the Lord of Fools will take note of a fighter Herself."

That makes Tiso straighten up sharply, but he doesn't seem disgusted, just intrigued. "Herself?"

Quirrel grins. "It's Hallownest. Time is wonky here, and there are more than a few immortal bugs scattered around." He snorts at Tiso's expression. "What, did you think the Pale King and White Queen were the only ones? Oh, no, the Lord of Fools has been around forever and every century or so changes how they present themself. For the last, oh, three centuries or so? she's been female." Quirrel shrugs lazily. "Apparently before that, the Lord was male, but that was long before I was born."

The ant shakes his head. "You Hallowed Bugs are insane. My sister probably gets along fabulously here."

"You have no idea," Quirrel says, thinking of the tiny ghost he saw all that time ago in the darkness of Fog Canyon. "You have absolutely no idea."


	39. Ghost

There is a ghost in Deepnest. 

This ghost is standing at the edge of the Distant Village, uncertain of themself.

Their map is open in their lower hands, their upper ones carefully tracing a path through the kingdom. Flame is pinned to their shoulder by a stray tendril of void, a punishment after he'd tried to take another chunk out of Hornet's face. The fact that he'd immediately tried to bite Herrah after she'd separated them, only to freeze immediately in his tracks when she'd leveled him with a terrifying glare, is only one reason why he's now in this position.

Ghost idly traces another possible path, ignoring the squirming, screeching mass of void and flame on their shoulder. The sooner he learns that he can't soothe his teething pains by chomping any bug he can get his jaws on, the better. They should probably ask Herrah if she has any good methods of reducing jaw pain before they leave. It's a fairly long trip to Kingdom's Edge; they trace the path from Kingdom's Edge to the City of Tears all the way back through Fungal Wastes and the Mantis Village-

Oh. Mantis Village. The place where they'd fled from an emotional breakdown. They'd prefer to go through any other place other than Mantis Village. Ghost is positive that they wouldn't be able to handle another full body hug from the Mantis Lord. Not without cracking the carefully applied bandages they'd wrapped around the emotional wounds. Herrah had been nice. Other than some basic advice on not letting such things fester, she hadn't pushed too hard.

Speaking of her-- "There you are, Sun Eater." They turn their head, all their eyes focusing on her in an instant. She's striding down the hall towards them, one arm holding a squirming, _seething_ Hornet against her chest. Their little sister is screeching incoherently, tiny limbs flailing as she attempts to escape. Flame spits at her from where he's still pinned and she absolutely wails her rage. Clearly they're determined to murder each other before they go.

" _Yes, Spider Queen?_ " Ghost signs carefully, making sure to not drop the map from their lower hands. " _We were just about to leave. It's a long trip to Kingdom's Edge._ "

Herrah snorts, idly transferring Hornet to one of her lower sets of arms. She's clearly far more practiced in ignoring screaming children. Ghost winces when Flame joins in the wailing. His shrieking is like rocks crashing together, claws grinding against solid stone. "I can make that quite a bit easier on you, Sun Eater."

They tilt their head to the side, blinking slowly when she pulls out a small, square object. It's made of stone, intricately carved and decorated with wings and Herrah's mask. A tram pass. " _Is that for us, Spider Queen?_ "

She presses it into their hands and then sets about wrapping Hornet into a webbing cocoon. "You are my daughter's elder sibling, regardless of whether or not you are of my brood. Family, little Sun Eater." The look Herrah gives them should mean something but Ghost is uncertain as to what. They still nod slowly, though. Whatever she is looking for, though, she apparently sees as Herrah's shoulders relax and she seems oddly smug.

Ghost slips the tram pass into their void, idly reaching a free hand up to pet a still screeching Flame. He tries to bite their hand, the faintest echo of his pain echoing through their connection. Right, they should probably ask about that. " _Would you happen to have something for teething pains?_ "

"Ah. Yes. That would explain his willingness to sink his teeth into everything." She hums and glances down at her daughter who is doing her level best to chew through the webbing keeping her pinned to Herrah's chest. "It seems as if he is not the only one, though."

"My queen," one of the guards says softly, reaching out to hand her something. She waves it in front of Hornet's face, shiny and glittery and looking like the oddest combination of materials that Ghost has ever seen, and their sister immediately releases the webbing to sink her teeth into it. It sparks between her mandibles, tiny teeth gnawing on the glowing light. They lean in closer, curious, and jerk back when Herrah thrusts a second ring into view.

"It's enchanted to remain cold and soothing for little ones. Monomon and Lurien's work." Herrah sounds annoyed about it, but Ghost is already taking the ring and scribbling a little bit of fire protection on it. Their claws are more than sharp enough to scratch the symbol into the ring--they absently note it seems to be a sort of metal mixed with soul to make it softer--and Ghost examines their work carefully. It's a symbol they learned from Grimm, when they were desperate to keep Flame from setting their things on fire.

Satisfied with their work, they press it up against Flame's jaw and watch as he latches onto it with vicious glee. Fire curls around his mouth and they release the void tendrils, watching as he wraps his wings around the ring to get a better grip. " _Thank you,_ " they sign, watching as Herrah snorts.

"Take it with you. I'll just harass the Wyrm into making me a new one." Herrah pauses and then laughs, adding, "Oh, never mind. I'll get Lurien to do it once he's done being a lovesick idiot."

Ghost doesn't want to ask. They _shouldn't_ ask. But oh, do they want to know. They want to know so very badly. " _Lovesick?_ "

Herrah gives them a look, though her mask hides most of it. "You really don't know, do you? Lurien the Watcher, Keeper of the Eternal Spiral. Hopelessly in love with the Pale King." She snorts, shaking her head. "The idiot is so dense he has no idea his own High Priest wants to do terrible, _terrible_ things to him."

They immediately hold up a hand, halting whatever else she was going to add on. From the wicked glint in her eyes, Ghost is definitely better off not letting her finish. It's bad enough that they've heard what they just did. " _We are leaving right now._ " They bow quickly, politely, and hurriedly fling themself off of the ledge. Herrah's cackling follows them all the way out of the village. Ghost is immensely grateful they can take the tram, if only because they wouldn't be able to handle looking Lurien in the face should they cross paths in the City of Tears.

Actually, they don't know if they can look either of them in the face ever again. Not without thinking about that terrible, terrible knowledge that they are now aware of.

Gods, now would be a fantastic time to learn how to erase memories or something like that. For all their apparent ability to fling themself back through time, they sure can't seem to avoid learning information they never wanted to know.


	40. Ghost

There is a ghost within Deepnest.

They are almost out, almost near the tram where they can leave with anyone foolish enough to enter.

But first, the hot spring. Ghost settles into the steaming water with a sigh, ignoring the way Flame spits out the teething ring to dive right in. He splashes around vindictively, making sure to thoroughly soak Ghost as much as he can. Not that they mind much, given that their cloak is no more than void and the nail on their back made of summoned soul. His incessant screeching and furious gnawing on their shoulder had been far more irritating than a bit of water. They are the God of Gods. If Flame wants to be irritating, he's going to have to try a lot harder.

Ghost opens a single eye when their brother abruptly stops splashing water, casting a glance around the hot spring lazily. Flame is across the way, snarling at a much larger bug. His ruff has been soaked down by water and his wings are spread to keep himself on the surface, teeth bared furiously.

The opposing bug is huge, all broad shell and vicious scarring. Ghost eyes them for a moment, watching with a scowl as they attempt to smash Flame into the water with a single hand. Their brother is fast despite his soaked form, easily swimming to the side and sinking his teeth into their arm. They howl with pain, wrenching their arm upwards and dragging their brother with. He dangles in the air, teeth firmly lodged to the point there's blood seeping around his jaws. The bug raises their other hand, clenching it into a fist and swinging down at Flame.

With his teeth as lodged as they are, he won't be able to dodge. Ghost _moves_.

Water sprays up around them, their form sharpening as they dash across the springs. They catch the arm in a fist, feeling it slap against their chitin, and dark void spills up and around their fingers. _How dare you_ , they hiss, furious and bright, and the bug snarls back at them. They narrow their eyes, feeling something deep and dark bubble up within their void. It's like seams are splitting along their form, vicious and gleaming and so full of teeth and eyes, light spilling out of all the gashes. They're peering down at the bug through all of their eyes, vision split between all of their gaze, and they watch as the bug in front of them starts shrinking back. _How dare you attempt to harm our brother_ , they snarl, jaw cracking to reveal all of their teeth, needle sharp and gleaming in the dim light.

Flame releases his teeth and drops into the hot spring with a whine. Ghost drops the bug in their grip and turns to check on him. He's struggling to stay at the surface, spitting out the blood in his mouth with little whimpers. They scoop him up and cradle him in all of their arms, gently petting his back, and pull the teething ring out of their void. He takes it, gnawing on the soft metal, and Ghost steps out of the hot spring, their cloak sluicing out of void and forming fully.

(They are distracted enough they don't notice that it is ruffed, just like the Burning Light's. White and gold decorate the bottom, slowly transforming into black and purple around their shoulders. Light glitters between their horns, and the clasp of their cloak is a beating heart made of void. They will not notice this until much, _much_ later.)

The tram stop in Deepnest is empty and choked with webs, unsurprising given that it is Deepnest and most bugs avoid the area if they can, but they swipe the card and lean against the toll booth, tilting their head so they can see down the tunnel. They can hear the rumble of the arriving tram already, and Ghost pushes off when it halts with a screech of metal. The door opens at their touch, still well oiled despite its age, and they slip inside and press a hand against the button at the end. It slips in easily and the doors close, the tram sliding down the railway with almost no noise.

Ghost settles neatly onto the bench and strokes Flame's back, idly pouring a little more soul into the teething ring to keep it nice and cold. He's chewing on it enthusiastically, wings pressed forward to better grip it with his clawtips. They peer a little closer at his mouth and the blood smeared around the edges of his jaws and mandibles. While they don't particularly care, other bugs might. They should probably clean that off before they arrive in the Ancient Basin tramway. Ghost pulls up a section of their cloak and wipes away what they can, idly nudging their brother to lick off what they couldn't. Flame grumbles at them mentally, but does so and immediately sinks his teeth back into the ring.

They really should find a good way to thank Queen Herrah for that teething ring. It's saved them quite a bit of trouble already and they've only just gotten out of Deepnest. The tram rumbles to a halt and Ghost ducks their horns as they step out, pausing when they realize the tram area is dead silent. Ghost straightens and blinks at the few bugs there, staring at them with wide eyes. The tram leading towards Kingdom's Edge is in station and they hum a note, striding towards the door. Their pass is accepted, and they step in, neatly settling on a seat, carefully laying Flame onto their lap. He's still chewing busily but has started purring faintly.

Good. Clearly his teeth are not bothering him as much. 

He stretches lazily on their lap, mewling, and Ghost gently pets his back. They can hear the other bugs whispering as they cautiously enter the tram, settling into their own seats, and the tram operator presses their hand against the operator panel. "Tram for Kingdom's Edge, setting off! Please remain in your seats!" they call, throwing a cautious glance. Ghost knows they're being watched, even if their head is dropped to keep an eye on their brother.

It's normal to be nervous around something bigger than you. Especially if they've just come out of Deepnest without so much as a scratch. That doesn't mean they like it, though.

"Tram has come to a complete halt! Please exit and let those wishing to board get on. Thank you for riding the Hallownest Tramway!"

Ghost gets to their feet once the tram has cleared, lazily striding out and onto the platform. The letter to Queen Vespa is burning a hole in their void but at least they don't have very far to go from here.

Only two rooms and then they'll be at the Hive.

(Something waits for them there. Their void is shaking in anticipation. They don't know why.)


	41. Ghost

There is a ghost within Kingdom's Edge.

There is a ghost slipping through the shadows, climbing over ledges, leaping over pits.

There is a ghost pretending that they're not as lost as they actually are.

They pull out the map and stare down at it, cursing out the lack of markings. The opening to the Hive is around here somewhere, no longer open as it was when they were within the future, and it's making it incredibly difficult to figure out how to get in. Really, though, they won't be breaking in this time. They have a letter from their sister's mother.

Admittedly, they wouldn't mind a fight with Hive Knight. He had been difficult for them, even with the Pure Nail and Abyss Shriek. Their small form hadn't allowed for much damage, both taking and dishing it out. But now? Now that they are fully grown and can summon as many nails as they please? Oh, they could crush him if they so wished.

But that's not the point of a spar. That's not the point of it at all.

Ghost hums as they walk, map spread open so they can trace the path, occasionally glancing up to peer up at the walls and tunnel in front of them. They idly reach a hand up to pet Flame, listening as he purrs away on their shoulder. At some point they will come within range of the Hive, at some point they will be challenged, at some point someone has to notice they are there.

"Halt!"

About time, honestly. Ghost was beginning to think they'd have to storm the Hive themself.

One of the Hive Soldiers buzzes down in front of them, aggressive but not attacking. "I said, halt and identify yourself!" They're watching them carefully, and Ghost idly rolls their shoulders and folds up their map, tucking it into their void. The bee stiffens at the movement, rolling around so they can aim their stinger directly at Ghost's face.

" _We were informed by Queen Herrah to give this to Her Majesty, Queen Vespa._ "

No reaction. Ghost heaves a sigh, rolling their eyes under the mask when they realize that, in order to have the stinger aimed properly, the bee is no longer capable of seeing their hands. They could use their telepathy, but other than snarling the words directly into the hot spring bug's mind, they have little to no practice with it. And they're uncertain what the consequences of accidentally messing up telepathy are, nor do they really want to find out.

"We said! Identify yourself!"

Ghost breathes in very slowly, reaches out and around the stinger, and forcefully turns the bee around. They ignore the way the bee yelps loudly and narrow their eyes at them. " _We said we have a message for Queen Vespa,_ " they sign, attempting to bore a hole into the bee with their glare. The soldier squeaks, immediately retracting their stinger and looking incredibly sorry about anything and everything. They quite look like they want to be anywhere else but here. Ghost can't blame them, honestly, and reaches into their cloak to pull out the message. " _Queen Herrah insisted that we give it directly to Queen_ _Vespa._ "

"Ah, yes," the bee says, clearly flustered. "This way." They flip around and drift a little higher, their wings buzzing loudly as they head towards an entrance Ghost has never seen before.

An entrance which is out of their reach entirely, even if they did use their limited ability to fly. They have no actual way of reaching it, as it's far, _far_ higher than the ledge in Distant Village was.

Guess they're learning to fly properly now, then.

The soldier bee has paused midair and is now staring down at them. "Is something wrong?" they call and Ghost resists the urge to break their mask to bare their teeth.

" _Other than we don't know how to_ _fly?_ " they ask, idly pushing Flame off of their shoulder. He shrieks loudly and flaps his wings wildly, eventually managing to recover fairly gracefully. Ghost would feel bad, except that they know he'll take massive amounts of glee at their attempts to fly.

"Oh," the bee says, and has the gall to look confused. "You can't fly?"

They ruffle their cloak, feeling it split open to allow their wings free. Brilliant gold at the edges, intricately laced with white and transparent enough they can see through them. Ghost fans them slowly, then flaps harder until they're vibrating them hard enough that the dust stirs up beneath their feet. They don't know if this will work, but it's either try and fail (and listen to Flame howling in laughter every time they attempt to fly again), or not do it and walk in. Ghost is gonna learn to fly, whether they like it or not.

But first, they have to get off the ground.

Flame cackles at them, flapping lazily. He swings upwards, looping and twirling, and floats gracefully to a halt next to the bee. They eye him cautiously but Ghost gives their brother a sharp glare. He's showing off, showing them up, and trying to make them annoyed enough they stop worrying and just _do_.

The worst part is that it's working.

Ghost can feel the wings vibrating harder, can feel the force pushing them upwards, can feel their magic rushing through their body, can feel the way the ground is no longer solid between their feet. They're not quite flying but they're not floating either. It's not graceful, not in the slightest, they'll have to practice quite a bit more to reach that point, but it'll do.

Clearly no fool, the bee gets out of their way, practically squishing themself against the wall to do so.

It takes Ghost approximately half a second to realize their error. Despite having (sorta) figured out flying, they have missed one major, oh so very crucial element.

They don't know how to stop. They don't know how to stop _or_ land.

Their baby brother clearly figures this out first, as he dives out of the way with a screech of alarm. Ghost slams into the wall with all the force of a Great Hopper, feeling all of the air in their lungs rush out with a whoosh. They slide down it slowly, their arms scrabbling for grip and they barely manage to haul themself onto the entrance platform with a wheeze.

Flame drifts down beside them, cackling wildly. Ghost tilts their face upwards, wraps an arm around him, and tugs his chubby wrym-baby body underneath them, crushing him between their chest and the ground.

To them, his screeches of fury sound like victory. They'll just have to squish him until he settles down and behaves. Besides, they're tired. Now is a wonderful time for a rest. They can meet with the Queen of the Hive later.


	42. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written on a LOT of pain meds because mother nature fucking hates me. please excuse grammar/spelling as its unbeta'd because i spent all day playing BotW and yelling about how Cado should be protected and all guardians need to fucking die

There is a ghost within the Hive.

There is a ghost at the very edge of the Hive.

This ghost would like to sleep, but something keeps poking them. Ignoring the way their brother screeches beneath them, they open their eyes and twist their head to stare up at the bee. They want to sleep. They're so tired after flying successfully and hitting the wall so hard, and they just want to lie here and not move for a while.

"You did say that you wanted to deliver the message directly to Queen Vespa," the bee tells them, mercilessly. Ghost considers bearing their teeth at them, but cracking the mask and then fixing it is just too much effort right now. They grumble and turn their face away, the sound deepening when the bee pokes them again. "We can do this all day, you know," they say with glee, and Ghost pushes a request to Flame to ask their preferred pronouns. They're a bit tired of mixing up their pronouns with those of the bee's.

Flame cackles below them and teleports out, reappearing in a burst of red flame. "Sibwing wishhesh tho wnow name and choshen pronounsh!" he chirps, sounding incredibly smug. Ghost considers reaching out to drag him under again but even that is too much more effort. They get to their feet with a grunt, peering blearily at the entrance to the hive.

The hive soldier buzzes rapidly for a moment, then huffs. "I am female, thank you. I'm a bit surprised you can't tell."

Ghost tilts their face so they can glare down at her. " _We are genderless, thank you very much. We find it is politer to ask than assume. We have manners._ "

She stares at them, taken completely off guard, and then cackles loudly. "Are you sure about that? You're the rudest bug I've ever met."

" _We can't speak. How can we possibly be rude._ " They roll their eyes and snatch up Flame, stuffing him against their chest and pulling their cloak shut. He screeches through the void fabric, slightly muffled, and they carefully wrap their arms to make a cradle. They can feel him squirming, but eventually he accepts the offering of a bed made of arms and settles down. Ghost pets his back lazily, following the bee into the tunnel. That she has not given them a name to refer to her by, only her preferred pronouns, does not slip by unnoticed.

"Queen Vespa is in the heart of the hive," the bee says, easily floating up to another level. Ghost glares at the lack of platforms but fans their wings once again, launching themselves upwards with a furious snarl. Flying is nowhere near as easy as Revek made it look all that time ago. No wonder the bastard had smirked when they'd asked if that was all there was to it.

They consider hunting down the Spirit's Grove and kicking his stupid face in, if only to get the last laugh.

Too much effort.

Way too much effort.

" _We hate you now,_ " Ghost instead signs, glaring at her as they haul themself up onto the platform in front of the door. " _Our first time flying properly and you make us do this._ "

Her smile is all teeth as she opens it and drifts through. "Isn't the best way of learning to be out in the thick of it? To experience it all personally? You either fly or you fall to your death."

Death is no matter to them. They are the Lord of Shades, God of Gods, all form and matter and void, light and dream and shadow squished down into their adult form. The room they're in now isn't big enough to hold their true size. In fact, they're not even sure the entire hive would be large enough to contain them. Best not to find out, if only because they happen to like the Hive when the guardian's aren't trying to murder them horribly. " _We are child to two immortals, hatched within the very void itself. What in Shadow and Shade do you think is going to happen when we 'die'?_ "

That makes her pause, her gaze looking them up and down. Ghost breaks their mask in half right down the center of their face, teeth spilling out and thousands of eyes blinking down at her. "Ah," she says, fluffing up until she's twice her size, but she doesn't scream. Yet. Impressive, considering that screaming is the usual reaction. They tuck everything away, sealing the chitin, and looking for all the world like nothing has just happened. "I see."

She guides them down the halls, quickly bouncing from platform to platform. These are at least close enough that Ghost can reach them fairly easily, the monarch wings gifting the extra height needed to grab on. Flame has vacated from his position in their cloak after the second time they'd squished him between their chest and the side of a platform, and now flies lazily next to them.

They can hear him taunting them every time they chose to use the monarch wings instead of Radiance's. Well, they suppose the brilliant wings are theirs now, and they should refer to them as such. Ghost sighs heavily and glances at their guide. She's doing a remarkable job at pretending to not be wary of them, but she's not actually afraid. Which is a new sensation and something they find they appreciate. "Her majesty is just through here," she says, gesturing to a hallway that Ghost remembers very well. They duck their head in a polite bow and stride forward, only coming to a halt when there's a nail thrust at their chest.

"Halt!" a familiar voice bellows and Ghost fights the urge to sigh. "You will not get past! I shall defend my queen!"

Farther down the hall comes a very soft, "Oh, Hayden, not again." They barely catch it, even with their abilities.

Ghost follows the nail down to its holder, meeting the gaze of Hive Knight firmly. He's glaring at them, the tip of his nail pointed at their heart. They push it to the side, neatly pushing him as well, and he squawks loudly as they stride on by.

Queen Vespa sits upon a throne, far smaller than they remember her being. She peers down at them, a gentle smile on her face. "Please excuse Hayden. He's been recently knighted and is very excited about it."

"My queen!" Hive Knight squawks, buzzing into the room at top speed. Ghost side-eyes him, deeply amused, and then pulls the envelope out of their void.

" _Queen Herrah wished for us to give this to_ you," they sign, bowing lazily. " _She did not tell us why, but we can guess._ "

"You have caused quite a bit of trouble, yes." She hums as she opens the letter, scanning through its contents. "Her title for you explains the light in your appearance, little Sun Eater."

Ghost tilts their head to the side, slowly, uncertain.

"My dear Herrah has written quite a lot here," Vespa says, looking very pleased with herself, and Ghost can't help but wonder how many relationships they've missed.


	43. Queen Vespa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have once again played BotW for too many hours today and am now writing this chapter at 8pm

There is a ghost in the heart of the Hive.

This ghost is tired, that much she can tell.

They're just lying there, at the very edge of the entrance. One of her own, feisty sharp-tonged Apis, is nearby but she doesn't seem stressed, just highly amused. Vepsa leaves her to her play, knowing full well that she is quite the warrior herself. That, and it gives her quite a good idea of one's personality seeing how they react to Apis' teasing and words.

Those that attempt to attack are immediately removed. And if they cannot be removed, they are mercilessly killed. The Hive must come before everything else, after all. It's how they have survived as long as they have. 

That the Pale King is so kind as to let them rule their own helps. He only asked that they learn Hallownest Common, so as to make trading easier.

(Hallownest's 'common' tongue turns out to be a mishmash of all of the languages spoken in the kingdom. There is Deepnest and Crystal Peak, Greenpath and Hive in the language. Words that roll in various ways, depending on the inflection used. Vespa is quite pleased with the creation and implements it almost immediately. Her bees take to it quite easily, given that Hallowtongue is quite similar to Hive.)

She tilts her head when the ghost starts moving again, and she can feel their agitation even from here. Yet they never move to attack, even when Apis purposefully starts needling them. Sure, they snap and snarl, especially when before large sections of open hive, but never once to they make a move.

A point to them, Vespa supposes. It's not often that she meets someone who is willing to put up with Apis' hassling.

Hayden, who has been positioned by her side this entire time, stiffens and then leaps into flight, buzzing down the hall at top speed. "Halt!" she hears him bellow, "You will not get past! I shall defend my queen!" and she can't stop her hands from coming up to cover her face.

"Oh, Hayden, not again," she sighs out, rubbing at her eyes before straightening up and settling back into her throne. Hayden yelps loudly in the darkness but he's not injured, just embarrassed and mildly ruffled, and she barely contains her laughter.

The ghost sweeps into the room. Taller than even her, with great horns that curve out and then in again, two smaller horns within the center. There are two pairs on each side of the mask, jutting out sharp like a nail, and eight, gleaming eyes watch her. This ghost is dangerous, an almost lethal glide of a nail against fragile flesh. The sheer amount of power within them. . . Oh, they could easily slaughter everyone here and still not be tired.

That they have not done that, despite all of Apis' hassling, is a testament to their personality.

Vespa thinks she might just like this child of the Wyrm. This one seems to have manners like their mother.

They stare up at her and she smiles down at them. "Please excuse Hayden. He's been recently knighted and is very excited about it."

"My queen!" Hayden squawks, buzzing rapidly back into the room. He's fluffed up on all sides, looking round in a way he hasn't since he was a child without wings, and Vespa chuckles. It's quite soothing to see that the ghost is amused as well, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

" _Queen Herrah wished for us to give this to_ you," the ghost signs as they draw an envelope from their cloak with their lower set of hands. It's been quite some time since Vespa has seen a bug with more than one pair of arms. Most usually have multiple legs, with exception of the spiders. " _She did not tell us why, but we can guess._ "

"You have caused quite a bit of trouble, yes," Vespa muses as she takes the letter from them. Herrah's writing is spiky and sharp, her name written in exactly the number of strokes needed to complete it. No more, no less, and definitely none of those fancy whirls that the Pale King likes to add in his letters.

_My dearest Vespa,_

_This letter holds little more than my love for you, for it is the bearer that you will be interested in._

_This one, the tall bug with the child like fire (be careful, he is teething and apt to bite),  
they have consumed the Burning Light and ascended to Her position._

_Before you stands the God of Night and Dreams, of Shadow and Void._

_The God of Gods, Sun Eater, Consumer of Void, Ghost of Hallownest._

_Be very careful, beloved. They may seem like a dangerous being, and they are,  
but they are very much emotionally fragile and in need of a good rest._

_Yours in heart,_

_Herrah_

Ghost, huh. Vespa reads the letter again and folds it neatly, tucking her beloved's words into the ruff around her throat. A rather apt name considering that they feel like one. "Her title for you explains the light in your appearance, little Sun Eater," she says blithely, ignoring the pretty, glittering light glowing between the inner curves of their horns.

Hayden has no such thoughts and is openly staring at it, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade and eyes wide. She considers whacking him with a hand, or even whispering to one of the Hivelings to _please_ slam into their brother and make him think again, but that wouldn't be queenly.

She does it anyway. The yelp Hayden lets out as he overbalances and topples over is beautiful, as is the hastily muffled snort Ghost hides. Their (teething, yikes!) sibling cackles madly, flipping over and then goes back to chewing on the ring that the god had given them. Vespa eyes it, eventually identifying it as the teething ring that Herrah had bullied Lurien and Monomon into making for Hornet.

Clearly her beloved is fond enough of Ghost to give away her spare one.

Vespa supposes that means she has more children now. "Will you be staying with us for long, little Sun Eater?" she asks, idly crossing a leg. Hayden chokes beside her, looking actually frantic and horrified and she can't help but smirk.

He always had a weak spot for pretty, dangerous bugs. Two weeks ago it was that warrior ant in the coliseum, and the one before her was the Moth who went by the name of Markoth. Over the years, his tastes have changed, but it's always been pretty and dangerous. 

Ghost meets both of those categories. Hayden is practically screaming internally next to her, his posture perfectly straight to the point of painful. Knowing him, he's probably plotting his revenge for this, and she's quite intrigued by what he'll think up this time. Last time she'd teased him about his crush, he'd replaced all of her bath salts with sugar.

(He'd given them back when faced with a sticky queen, but still. It was amusing later, once she'd rinsed it all out of her ruff.)

" _We might consider it._ " They hum lazily and glance around at the place, clearly taking in the architecture and designs. " _If we chose to leave, may we take a few bottles of honey with us? One of our younger siblings has expressed a wish to taste it and we would like to gift some to Queen Herrah for the teething ring._ "

That's reasonable. Honey is a very good gift, especially seeing as the Hive doesn't let others have it fresh from the source often. And they were even polite enough to ask without attempting to take any.

"We don't see why not," Vespa says, waving her hand lazily.

The Sun Eater bows, slowly, lazily. " _That would be lovely, your majesty._ "

"Please, just call me Vespa. Or mother. My dear beloved Herrah seems to have adopted you anyway."


	44. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive poured 40+ hours into BotW in four days and now have the Master Sword! only complaint is that the fucKER DEPOWERS WHAT WHY I WAS FIGHTING A LYNEL YOU JERK

There is a ghost within the Hive.

This ghost is deeply amused and doing their level best to not laugh at the poor bee in front of them.

Hayden is quite adorable, they decide. Now that he's no longer threatening them, and is instead spluttering wildly while also attempting to show off at the same time, they find themself rather entertained.

He's practically strutting across the training grounds of the Hive, gesturing with his nail and swinging it gracefully, somehow managing to always keep his best side in view.

Behind them, Vespa is wheezing softly, doing her level best to smother her laughter.

The Hive Knight, apparently, is a disaster when it comes to bugs who can throw him around like it's nothing, Vespa had said, quietly, like she was whispering a secret. Ghost, having hauled him up and off to the side earlier, falls into that category. They fall into that category quite hard, especially once the bee got a good look at their height.

If they were interested, or even actively emotionally capable of a relationship, they might consider it. But they're not, and they love Quirrel too much anyway, so it's better if they let him down. Somehow.

Ghost has never done this sort of thing before.

There's a damn good chance they'll fuck this up as badly as everything else they've done.

But Hayden grins up at them, wide and cheerful, and all Ghost can see is his death. His corpse. That they killed, before looting it for the Hiveblood charm. Even if they don't have it now, they still bear the guilt, still expect to see his blood coating their nail, still expect to see Queen Vespa's ~~mother's~~ corpse, still expect to see Her burning light consuming the Hive from the inside out.

Is it their guilt that has them accepting his request for a spar? They don't know.

They find themself watching him as he moves, taking note of some of his attacks. Despite being only recently knighted, he's very skilled, whip sharp and intelligent. He's light, quick on his feet, and fully capable of spinning around even when moving rapidly from one side of the training ground to the other.

If Ghost tried that one, they'd crash face first into the ground almost immediately. Their massive set of horns and lanky body don't make it very easy to execute turns on a geo, at least not without a lot of flailing and the general risk of overbalancing.

That their nail is bigger than the Nailmaster's also does not help.

"Ghost!" Hayden calls as he skids to a halt. "Will you honor me with a spar?"

Ghost considers this for a moment, then nods, making their way across the ground to stand across from him. He readies his nail and drops down into a lower stance, shifting the point until it's pointing directly at them. They don't so much as twitch, arms neatly crossed beneath their cloak. Flame sits on the sidelines, perched within Queen Vespa's ~~mother's~~ arms. He's purring loud enough that they can hear him even from across the room.

Hayden peers at them carefully, like he's waiting for them to make the first move. They shift their cloak so it pillows over their shoulders, letting it flair with their power. Light gleams at the base of the folds, glittering in gold and white.

Hive Knight stiffens. Ghost doesn't move. They still haven't summoned their nail.

" _Well?_ " they demand. " _Aren't you going to do something, Hive Knight? Or is that fancy new title only for show?_ "

He narrows his eyes at them, knees shifting slightly. They can already tell he's readying to lunge at them, and pull the void up within their fingers, letting the shadows drift across their palms.

When he moves, they are ready. Void leaps up around their ankles, wrapping around their entire form, and Ghost disappears into their own shadow. They slide across the training ground, pulling themself out on the other side, and turn to face Hive Knight. He's spun around by this point and is openly gaping, spluttering wildly.

Vespa practically cackles on the sidelines, her laughter mixing with Flame's until they're difficult to tell apart.  
" _We haven't even drawn our nail,_ " they sign, deeply amused at the sheer level of offense that crosses Hayden's face. " _Shouldn't you be trying harder than this?_ "

That gets a snarl from him and Hayden lunges forward, nail swinging forward in a sharp line. They flick their hand upwards, a line of soul magic following, and their massive nail materializes in their hand. Hayden's nail slams into it with a loud clang and they grip the handle firmly, swinging it upwards.

The screech Hive Knight lets out as he's physically thrown backwards is beautiful. Vespa practically howls with laughter in the background, gracefully stepping out of the way of him. He hits the ground and rolls, nail flung out to the side, and skids to a halt in the dust.

Ghost peers at him, watching as he gets back to his feet. He looks like he's been slapped, eyes wide and stunned. They plant their nail in the Hive flooring with a heavy thud, bringing up their lower hands to sign. " _Did we hit you too hard?_ "

"You flung me," Hayden says, oddly strangled, and Vespa's laughter takes on a rather breathless edge. They glance at her to make sure that she's fine, pausing at the sight of the queen now sitting at the edge of the ring, practically bent over in laughter. "You flung me backwards so far I cleared a distance and went rolling."

" _We do that fairly often,_ " Ghost informs him, now puzzled, and his face contorts into a very odd expression indeed.

Hayden goes to pick up his nail, wings buzzing faintly. "You fling bugs regularly," he wheezes quietly, like he can't quite believe it. Ghost is pretty sure they weren't supposed to hear that.

They glance around at the training area, noting that there's now quite a few bugs clustered at the edges, watching with rapt fascination. Some are deeply amused at how Hive Knight has been flung backwards, others have the exact same expression Hayden is now wearing.

For a moment, Ghost wonders if they should ask about the expression, but then decide it's probably better if they don't. Just to save their sanity.

Vespa slowly gets up to her feet and raises a hand, immediately attracting their attention. "We see you have quite a bit of power, despite being unused to your large form, my child." She hums slowly, softly. "Lord Keiza of the Mantises is close enough in size and strength. Perhaps you should seek out his teachings."

That is one of the last things that Ghost wants to do after they literally ran from him in tears. 

" _We've met,_ " they instead sign dryly, trying not to think about that disaster of a meeting.

"Well, I suppose my dear Herrah could also teach you, but unfortunately sweet little Hornet is such a handful right now." Vespa crosses the field as Ghost slings their nail onto their back, followed by a few bees. They've got jars clutched within their hands and Ghost instinctively knows that this is the honey Brook so desired. Vespa hands them Flame and easily picks up the largest jar. "Do bring this to Herrah at some point, my child. She will appreciate it, perhaps you will even get a taste of her delicious honey cakes."

" _Is that a euphemism or?_ "

Vespa howls with laughter, barely keeping from dropping the jar. "Oh, you've got a sense of humor! I'm definitely keeping you. No, it's not one. They're sweet cakes made with grain and drizzled with fresh honey from the Hive." 

Ghost isn't sure if they should believe that or not, but what little manners their sister had taught them has finally kicked in and they shove their hands beneath their cloak to keep from talking. Flame cackles from his position on their shoulder, spitting a small burst of fire that lights up the recesses of their mask.

"We assume you will be leaving the Hive now, my child?" Vespa asks, tilting her head to the side. "There are two visitors within distance of the Hive that you may find interesting. Perhaps you should seek them out."

Her smile is sweet, gentle, and with just a hint of knowing. 


	45. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Hive.

This ghost is following Apis as she leads them to the exit, glaring daggers at her back.

If they were capable of forming soul daggers, she'd be dead many times over by now.

She's been taking them across every single gap, as far apart as possible, basically forcing them to use their wings to fly across. Flame seems to think it's funny, as he's not only been encouraging her, but he's also been mocking them from across the gap. If they want to smother him in their cloak, they have to fly across to grab his fuzzy little form.

Ghost absolutely hates that it's working.

Each forced flight is making them better, smoother, capable of going farther before their wings inevitably tangle and they crash. They've also figured out gliding, letting the tendrils fan outwards as they lazily drift towards the platform.

Apis grins cheekily at them with every success, even going as far as giving them tips and tricks for proper flight. They'd absolutely love to pick her up and fling her down the nearest pit, except she'd fly back up just to laugh at their poor skills again.

They've definitely improved rapidly in their short time with her, though.

They definitely would rather be stabbed than ever admit that to her face.

"And here's the exit!" Apis exclaims, waving her hand towards a tunnel high up on the wall. Ghost can't stop the groan that escapes them and they turn a glare onto her, even going as far as cracking their mask to really sell the narrowed eyes. She giggles in response, smirking widely. "If you wanna leave, you're just gonna have to do it!"

Oh, now that's just mean. The urge to kick Apis off the nearest ledge is increasing rapidly. They seal their mask together into one piece and spread their wings, launching themselves upwards with a furious mental curse. Flame cackles loudly in the back of their head, swooping upwards with the ease of someone who is born knowing how to fly.

For a moment, Ghost considers kicking him off of a ledge, too.

But no, he's a child of Grimm, and that wouldn't stop him in the slightest. In fact, they're pretty sure he'd just laugh at them and continue for a long time.

They manage to successfully land on the ledge, scrabbling to drag themself up onto it. Apis hovers in the air nearby, her wings buzzing away. "You're welcome back anytime, you hear?"

" _That easily?_ " they sign slowly, making sure that they use what little Hive sign they know to get their point across.

She grins. "Like it or not, the Queen Mother has adopted you. You're kin now. The Hive is your home, as much as it is ours. We'll see you later, Ghost."

Ghost peers at her as she rapidly vanishes into the depths of the Hive, the sound of her wingbeats fading into the distance. Flame watches with interest, then flicks his tail, turning away lazily. "Sibwing," he says, red eyes shifting to meet theirs. "I wanna expwore Kingdom'sh Edge."

That's reasonable, given what they know of him. He's long nursed a grudge towards the Primal Aspids, and now that he's capable of doing damage. . . Well. They know full well what's going to happen. He's going to sink his teeth into a Primal Aspid and shake it apart, spilling fire and flame across their form.

Maybe, now that they're not filled to the brim with the burning light, Primal Aspids might be an interesting food source. They certainly wouldn't feel any remorse sinking their teeth into the damn things.

It's funny, given that there are very few things that Ghost has a grudge against. Their father, Radiance, the Crystal Hunters in the peak, and the Primal Aspids.

The God of Gods has a grudge against a tiny little Primal Aspid.

They press a hand against Flame and leap down out of the Hive entrance, humming lazily. **_Where do you want to go, Flame?_** they think, leaping down from ledge to ledge.

Flame leaps up off of their shoulder, spreading his wings and shaking his tiny wyrm-tail. "Thish way!" he squeaks, heading up towards where the coliseum lies. The sound of his wings is loud despite the ash floating gently down and they follow the noise, even when he darts behind rocks and zips around enemies.

Any Primal Aspid foolish enough to come near is promptly bitten, fire spilling out over his teeth.

Fire and a little something else, Ghost notes, poking the wound on the dead Aspid that is stained black. Apparently their littlest brother is capable of producing his own internal void, and it spills out of his teeth like poison from a spider.

**_No more biting other bugs,_** they tell him, sighing a little at the way he deflates. They pick up the corpse and turn it so he can see the wound dripping black sludge. **_We believe you produce something similar to void now, like we do. Biting bugs is just too dangerous, especially since we don't know how it will affect others._**

"Buth shibwing shaid Fwame can'th sheth on fire!"

**_We rescind that for now,_** Ghost sighs out, tossing the corpse aside and watching as it crashes to the floor far below. **_As long as you don't reduce anything to cinders automatically, that is._**

Apparently being able to use his fire is a cause for celebration, because he immediately incinerates the nearest Aspid with extreme violence. Ghost huffs a laugh, covering the lower part of their mask with their hand, their shoulders shaking. They follow their sibling up the path, ducking away from the Great Hoppers and watching as Flame does his level best to burn the entire area down.

They leap upwards, turning slightly when they hear the slightest sound of voices. Two voices, faintly in the distance, and they feel like they recognize them.

Ghost feels like their throat has just closed up on them. They're shaking, the sheer familiarity of the voices becoming worse the closer they get. Flame settles on their shoulder, chirping soothingly.

Running sounds good. They want to run. But they're so goddamn tired of running. They knew this would happen at some point, knew that he was alive at this time, knew that they would have to deal with this eventually.

Quirrel and Tiso step around a corner, Tiso telling some story that Quirrel is laughing at, and Ghost feels like their heart has just shattered in their chest.

It's fine. This is fine. They're fine.

(They're not fine.) 


	46. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: ghost does an ethical and moral Bad Thing involving invading someone else's mind without their permission

There is a ghost within Kingdom's Edge.

This ghost is watching a pair of ghosts approach from their position on a rock, their corpses fresh in their mind.

They shake it away and turn to look elsewhere, but they don't move. Flame's tiny legs are digging into their shoulder and they can feel it even through the void of their cloak. "Sibwing," he whines, low and soft, gaze locked upon the two ghosts walking towards them. They don't twist their head to look, don't so much as twitch, but the sounds of their voices as they draw ever closer still makes them shake.

"Oh, hello up there!" Ghost winces. Quirrel's voice is so familiar, given that they'd listened to him so intently all that time ago.

Ghost turns their head, mask tilting down so that they can see him. It's like taking a punch to the gut, but they manage to not react other than a slight twitch. Tiso stands beside Quirrel, shield on his back and arms crossed over his chest. "You know," he says, frowning, and Ghost can just barely see the lines of his face in his hood, "it's fucking polite to respond to a greeting."

"Tiso," Quirrel hisses, low and disapproving, "don't be rude."

Tiso rolls his eyes. "Bit hard to be rude when that one hasn't even responded."

Flame cackles from their shoulders and both Quirrel and Tiso look up at them. Ghost shoves the edges of their cloak back to reveal their arms, lazily signing, " _We're mute,_ " and being deeply amused when Quirrel immediately looks dismayed.

"Tiso!" he shrieks, and the ant immediately shrinks back.

"How was I supposed to know, Quirrel?" he yelps, flailing his arms. "It's not like you can tell at first glance, you damn scholar!"

Ghost snorts and carefully makes their way down the rock, making careful use of the Pure Nail to slowly climb down. Flame remains on their shoulder, his presence soothing them in a way they didn't expect. They feel like they're in a bubble of water, like they're so far past the point of panic that they're perfectly calm.

Quirrel and Tiso stand in front of them, but they have yet to react with little more than shaking and a twitch at the sound of their voices.

"Well, at least apologize, you damn warrior," Quirrel hisses and Tiso crosses his arms over his chest again. He turns mulishly away and scowls at the wall. Ghost can't help it and they find themself laughing, so gentle and soft and like the very void itself is turning its gaze outward. They cover the lower part of their mask and turn away, but the shaking of the shoulders reveals their mirth.

"Sibwing doeshn'th mind!" Flame chirps loudly from his position, and both Quirrel and Tiso jerk to stare at him. "I'm Fwame and shibwing ish Ghoshth." He nods sagely, blinking brilliant red eyes at them, and preens vainly. Ghost pets him lazily, their hands pressing firmly against his back in warning.

They nod in greeting and reveal their lower set of arms, shaking them out lazily. " _Greetings to you, Tiso the warrior and Quirrel the scholar._ " That gets a laugh out of Quirrel and he saunters forward until he's peering up at them through his mask.

"Greetings to you, Ghost," Quirrel says with a sage nod. "Tiso and I were just about to rest. Perhaps you would like to join us for a meal?"

Ghost shouldn't. They really shouldn't. But they desperately want to.

Flame sinks his teeth into their shoulder and Ghost stiffens, then nods quickly. " _We'd be delighted to do so,_ " they sign, feeling like they've just signed their own death warrant.

Quirrel beams at them, bright enough that they can see it even with the mask. He's the type of bug who wears their emotions on their sleeves, his body language revealing everything he's thinking of. Even Tiso seems to be affected by it, as his stance is far less stiff and aggressive than they remember it being.

(He stares at Quirrel like the pillbug rose the sun. Ghost doesn't know how to feel about it.)

"Fantastic!" Quirrel exclaims, clapping his hands together. "Tiso, do you know what to hunt around here?"

They click their tongue to attract attention. " _I hate Primal Aspids with a passion. Can we eat_ them?"

The scholar leans back and crosses his arms, tapping a finger against the chin of his mask. "That's a good question. I'm not actually sure I can answer that, though."

"Yes," Tiso says flatly. "But you have to get past their stupid projectiles first."

Quirrel turns to look at him, surprise radiating off of his form. "Did you make it here first before you got lost in Fog Canyon?" Tiso doesn't answer but that must be an answer enough, as Quirrel cracks up into laughter, his body shaking from the force. "I can't believe you made it here, then got lost and wound up in Fog Canyon," he wheezes, hands now on his knees.

"Shut up," Tiso snaps, grabbing his shield and leaping off of the ledge. He's not angry, just visibly embarrassed, and Quirrel sidles up to them.

"Shall we make a fire for our brave hunter?" he asks, still snickering and Ghost nods, despite their trepidation. They follow Quirrel as he leads them to a secluded offshoot and kneels down, stacking up wood in a neat but slightly precarious triangle shape. He settles down from across it and pulls out his nail, idly striking a rock off of it. Ghost twitches slightly, but watches with interest as sparks from and catch onto the wood.

They sit there in silence for a moment before Quirrel tilts his head to the side and peers at them. "Forgive me for intruding," he eventually says, "but you seem very sad."

Ghost twitches, looking to the side. They can't refute that statement. Even Flame had commented on their sadness, all that time ago. It follows them like a cloud. They are a ghost and all they do is haunt. " _We can't deny that,_ " they finally sign.

"I don't know you," Quirrel sighs, "but I've always been told that I have a gentle heart and like helping others." He scoots a little closer, and gently reaches out to take two of Ghost's hands.

" _We are angry,_ " Ghost signs with their lower hands. " _We are so angry and we don't know what to do._ "

Quirrel lets go of their hands and leans back, adopting a pensive look. "No way to get it out, then?"

" _We fight, but other than that. . ._ " They trail off and shake their head, pulling away. They shouldn't even be telling him, or even entertaining this conversation, but they've always had a great weakness for Quirrel. " _We're just so angry and so full of grief and we can't let it go._ "

Flame coos at them from their shoulder, moving to curl soothingly around their neck. "Sibwing angry ath fathher," he says, without any form of mercy, and Ghost hisses, moving to clamp his mouth shut.

_You be quiet_ , they hiss, and it's only when Quirrel winces that they realize they've reached him, too.

He doesn't do more than just wince, though, instead leaning back on his hands. "Father?" he parrots. "Do you mean His Majesty, the Pale King?"

Their emotions reel upwards, furious and vicious, all of the grief that they've been ignoring spilling over at once. " _He's a liar! A betrayer! Abandonment and abuse!_ "

"Is that so?" Tiso asks, and its only when the corpses of several Primal Aspids hit the ground that they realize he's back. He sinks down onto the ground beside them and punctures the bubble, discarding the liquid inside. Ghost watches him, their void quivering within their shell. They don't know how to describe everything he's done.

" _He's hurt us,_ " they finally manage, their hands shaking. " _He hurt us so badly and we cannot forgive him. He's destroyed everything, burned it to the ground. The deaths of our siblings are on his hands._ "

Quirrel hands them one of the Aspids and they take it gingerly, cautiously following Tiso's example as he prepares the Aspids for the fire. They pretend to not notice the looks Tiso and Quirrel are giving them, pretend that they aren't on the verge of tears.

"Do you believe it?" Tiso asks, softly in an attempt to keep them from overhearing, as he picks the fluid filled bubble of the Aspid off of its chitin. Quirrel shrugs slightly, glancing at them as he discards the sacs to the side and threads them above the fire.

"I don't know," he whispers. "I really don't know."

Ghost almost snarls. They don't believe them. Of course they don't believe them. Why would they? All they've ever seen of the Pale King is his light, his majesty. Never the darkness he hides beneath glittering white light. They drop their Aspid, ignoring the way its heavy corpse hits the ground, and lean forward, taking a hand from each of them.

"Sibwing!" Flame screeches, sinking his teeth into Ghost's arms, but it's far too late.

(The Crossroads, spilling orange across the lands. Dirtmouth, almost empty and haunted by what could of been. The City of Tears, empty and swallowed by hallowed husks, old guards who defended a dead land. The Watcher, sleeping on a plinth, so desperate for his beloved King, despite the failure. Crystal Peak, and its pain of spikes and shards, Resting Grounds and the one single remaining moth left. Dream Warriors, slaughtered by each other or themselves, or by the Pale Wyrm's decree.

The glowing white corpse on a sunken throne, long since cold and dead. The Kingsoul they take from him after they stab him with their nail. The White Lady in her tiny little home, bound and blind. Traitor Lord, where they left him after his death.

The Abyss, filled to the brim with their sibling's shells, discarded and long since grown cold. Death and death and death, and the sound of their siblings dying on spikes as they crash back down.

Bubbles sinking deeper in glittering water, the form blurry but undeniably there despite the water reflecting the light of the surface, mask in hand and eyes closed in peace, the knot of a blue bandanna coming undone.

A corpse, so very still, chitin cracked and caved in, blood spilling out, eyes open wide in a frozen expression but blank and unseeing, all hidden beneath a blue hood.)


	47. Ambrosia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter art is by TokyoTeddyWolf, posted with permission. 
> 
> also :) to those who thought this chapter would be Ghost, Tiso, or Quirrel

There are many ghosts within the White Palace.

One of them, lies in a deep slumber, the runes placed over him humming as they work.

He turns slowly in his sleep, shifting and moving, and then jerks when his face is unceremoniously slapped.

Ambrosia groans, squinting his eyes against the light in the room, and peers up at the three masks staring down at him. They're tiny and he immediately recognizes them as one of the sets of triplets. They're small, barely the length from his wrist to his elbow, and they're curled up against his side while still looming over. "Greetings to you three," Ambrosia says, deeply amused.

The three stare at him, then squeak what he can only assume to be a return greeting. But, no matter how tinged and stained his upper pair of arms is with void, he can't understand them. Unfortunate, but he supposes he'll just have to deal with it.

He peers at the door, idly wondering what it's going to have to take to get some food, when it creaks open. His beloved Root slides easily through, a tray in her hands, and she screeches to a halt when she sees him sitting up. "My dear Wyrm?" she asks, voice trembling.

"Camellia," he responds, smiling as best he can. It's not very wide, especially given that his face complains very loudly when he tries to do more than a quirk of his mandibles, but it's enough. She sets the tray down on a sidetable, moving over to press her now glowing hands against his face. Ambrosia leans into it with a sigh, being careful to not jostle his children too much. "Thank you, my dear. I find myself quite hungry."

She huffs a breath and pulls her hands back, gently handing him a bowl of what appears to be little more than a thick broth. He stares at it for a moment, then at her. Camellia pushes it into his hands with a sigh. "You're not getting more than that, dear. You've been unconscious for quite a while, in and out of consciousness for hours at a time."

Ambrosia sips at the broth, now feeling nervous. "Unconscious," he repeats, feeling a sinking sensation in his chest. "I. . . don't remember any of that, Camellia." He leans back and wracks his memory, running over the last things he remembers. "I remember the door to the Abyss, peeling it open. The little ones here with me are proof that it worked, but. . . Camellia, my dear, I don't remember anything that came after that. What happened down there?" He can feel his breathing increasing as he presses a hand against his chest, wincing at the pain that echoes through him. Despite the pale, plain shift he is wearing, he can still see the bandages wrapped around him.

He can't see out of one of his eyes. Reaching his hand up, he presses against bandages wrapped around his face. "Camellia," Ambrosia says, and his voice is shaking, "what happened to me?"

His beloved wife winces, glancing at the children beside him. They're peering up curiously at him, so small and fragile, but they seem to be aware that he's distressed. The biggest of the three scrambles closer against his side and wraps an arm around his side, the other two following close behind.

They're hugging him.

Oh, gods, he doesn't deserve this.

Camellia sighs softly and settles down in a chair by the nest, draping her hands over her lap. "Lurien brought you in," she begins quietly. "There was so much blood. Your mask had been shattered, shards embedded in your face. Grimm and Lurien had the steadiest hands, they ended up assisting the healers in picking them all out. Your chest had been caved in, your arm had been snapped, wrist broken, broken mandible. And on top of that, you had a concussion and didn't recognize anyone for days."

He swallows tightly, pressing a hand against his face. Now that he thinks about it, he can feel the little cuts and gashes that line his chitin. Can feel the way one of his arms is completely shattered and hanging uselessly in a sling against his chest. "I feel terrible," he breathes, forcing himself to sip at his soup.

"Lurien had a panic attack," Camellia admits. "Grimm ended up calming him." She shakes her head. "If you wish to know what happened down there, Grimm or Hallow would be able to tell you. Neither of them were able to tell me much, too shaken and upset, but they may talk to you."

Ambrosia swallows and tips back the bowl, letting the last drops fall into his mouth. He supposes he'll just have to hunt Grimm down at some point, because he's not going to put his child through reliving the horror of watching their father nearly get killed in front of them. That's really bad father territory, and he's already been a terrible enough parent as it is. There's no need to go and make it worse.

His wife gently takes the bowl from him and sets it down on the tray, turning her gaze to the three perched in the bed. Ambrosia follows her eyes and blinks slowly, then reaches out almost automatically and hands the three the large bowl of fruit. The trio descends upon it immediately, shoving tiny little hands into the bowl and grabbing the fruits within. They're almost as big as their masks, and Ambrosia finds himself chuckling as the three sink tiny little fangs into soft flesh.

They're his. His children. He doesn't know how long they've been with him, curled up in his bed, but he finds that all of his parental instincts are going absolutely feral. If anything happened to his children, he'd slaughter everyone responsible, and then probably himself.

There's a knock at the door and Camellia glances up. "Come in!" she calls, and the door slides open just enough for a large mask to poke through. Ambrosia stiffens, feeling his heart skip a beat within his chest. Hallow steps into the room, clearly cautious, but they visibly perk up when they spot him.

" _Father!_ " they sign, immediately darting forward to stand in front of him. He blinks up at them, almost absently taking note that the clasp holding their cloak together is a seal of Hallownest.

"My child," he murmurs softly, reaching out to take their hands. They press them into his own almost immediately, falling to their knees to drop their face onto his lap. Ambrosia pets their face gently, rubbing his hand against the hard bone of their mask. They clutch at his shift, void black, sharp claws cutting into the fabric. He ignores it, focusing on the way their breath hitches and thick tears form at the corners of their eyes. "I'm fine, my dear child," Ambrosia says softly. "I promise you this."

One of the three children makes an attempt to escape the nest, the scrabbling of their claws against the wood loud in the silence. Ambrosia turns his head and grabs them with the one remaining uninjured arm he has, gently bundling them against his chest. They squeak in annoyance and he huffs a laugh, gently petting their mask. A chance look upwards reveals both Lurien and Grimm in the doorway, lurking ominously. Lurien is peering out from behind Grimm, a hand pressed against his mask, and Grimm himself as a very odd expression on his face.

Ambrosia finds himself huffing a laugh, and leans back. Immediately the two little ones still remaining within the nest tackle him, crawling across his chest. Camellia leans forward with a sharp little gasp, but he waves her off. They're his children, if they wish to crawl across him and make an absolute mess of his nesting area, then he sees no reason to stop them.

He's been a bad enough father as it is, apparently.


	48. Ambrosia, the Pale King

There are fewer and fewer ghosts within the White Palace.

These ghosts are coming back to life.

Or, in his case, recovering.

He's covered in children now, all of them draped across his frame. First it had just been the unnamed set of triplets, curled up around him in the healing hall nest, then a pair with horns curved downwards had snuck in. Camellia had taken one look at them, at their cloaks singed with ash and embers, and had sighed heavily. She'd chased them into the nearby bathing room, towards the springs where Ambrosia had slumped as she'd washed his wounds. "And don't come out until you're clean!" she calls, carefully sliding the door most of the way shut.

The loud chirps and splashing noises make her sigh heavily, but she turns her gaze back to him. "That would be your new favorite children," Camellia tells him.

"I thought Hallow was my favorite," he says, dryly.

"Those two have figured out how to make things explode using soul magic."

Ambrosia's face pinches and he knows he's got a rather maniacal expression on his face. "Explode, you say?" he asks, already plotting ideas. His wife sighs heavily and carefully reaches over to swat at him, being mindful of both his injures and the children draped around him. Hallow grumbles from where they're wedged up against his side, arms wrapped around his waist. The other three are draped across Hallow and their horns, and Ambrosia finds himself staring down at them. They're so small, barely tall enough to go from his wrist to his elbow.

A particularly loud chirp attracts his attention and he glances at the door. It's partially open now, the two peeking out curiously. They chirp when they realize he's looking and Ambrosia feels his heart practically melt in his chest. "Do you wish to join me?" he asks, soft and gentle, and the two immediately scramble over.

His arms are a bit too full to be of use, given that they're wrapped in bandages and Hallow is clutching the unbroken ones, but the little ones don't seem to be bothered. They scramble up the edge of the bed and crawl across his form, nuzzling down on the open side of his chest.

Grimm, from where he's been leaning quietly against a wall, coos at him. Ambrosia resists the urge to throw something sharp, pointy, and made of soul at him. Lurien, however, seems to have no such reversion, as he ducks down and kicks Grimm's legs out from underneath him. The screech of rage, along with watching the Troupe Master flail like an uncoordinated grub, are well worth the grumbles he gets as the children wake up.

"Oh, do be quiet, Grimm," he hisses, low and soft, and digs in his memory for the sounds his parents used to make to get him to sleep when he was younger. It's a low purr, low and soft and a deep endless rumble within his chest. The children plastered against him relax, slumping down, and then their breathing slowly evens out. Hallow lets out a soft purr and nuzzles their face in further, then goes still.

Ambrosia slumps against the back of the nest and resigns himself to not moving for a while. Though, admittedly, it's not like he could move anyway.

Camellia gives him a gentle smile. "The three little ones, the triplets, are still unnamed, but the two with the horns curved downwards chose their names already. Spark is the one on your left side, with the horns about halfway down the side of their mask. Ember has the horns at the upper edges, close to the top."

"And how many children are in the palace?" he asks.

His wife laughs at him. "There are currently fifteen children within the palace. Eight of which have names, or have chosen their name. The other set of triplets are Nail, Charm, and Shield. They're rather mischievous and a delight to have around." She smirks. "You should have seen the way the nobles scattered when the three crashed into the table, screeching like little Vengeflies. I've never seen the room clear out quite like that before!" Camellia practically cackles, hand coming up to cover the bottom part of her mask. She taps a hand against it, then stills, takes it off, and gives Ambrosia a gentle, soft smile. "I'm very glad you seem to be much better, my dear Wyrm."

"Oh, yes," Lurien agrees, from where he's now sitting daintily in a chair. He doesn't look ruffed at all, despite the fact that Grimm has been trying to set him on fire for tripping him. "You scared us quite a bit, my King."

"Coward," Grimm hisses, and Lurien throws a summoned knife at him.

"You're one to talk, troupe master," the Watcher returns airily, ignoring the way Grimm hisses angrily at him, and Camellia groans softly, reaching up to rub at her face.

She leans in closer, almost conspiratorially, and murmurs, "They like each other but refuse to admit it." Ambrosia's heart clenches at the thought, the knowledge, and he has to pretend that he's not reeling. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, my dear husband. Don't tell me you haven't paid a lick of attention to the way Lurien has practically panted after you? Grimm is even worse; he's not subtle at all."

Ambrosia stills, staring at her. "They. . . what?"

"Like you, my Wyrm. And I'm very tired of watching them fumble all over themselves as they try and fail to tell you." She huffs a breath, reaching out to gently pet the children's masks. Spark lets out a soft chirp, nuzzling their face against her hand, blinking up sleepily. "It's all right, my child. Go back to sleep and let the dumb adults work this out."

"Dumb!" Grimm hisses from across the room, from where he's trying to bodily haul Lurien out of the chair. "I'll show you dumb, Camellia!"

Camellia gives him a very flat look. "Oh, like how you have told Lurien you're attracted to him and now he's ignoring the entire situation like it never happened? Like how you both want to do terrible things to my husband but refuse to confess to him? That dumb?"

Grimm goes very, _very_ silent, Lurien chokes and wheezes and splutters wildly, and Camellia nods in satisfaction. "That's what I thought, oh wise Troupe Master."

Ambrosia would like to go back to sleep, and maybe when he wakes up the world will make sense again.


	49. Camellia

There are no ghosts within the White Palace.

Just a trio of fools.

Either those three idiots figure things out, or she's going to do it for them.

(She has to do it for them, doesn't she. Dammit.)

At the very least, her husband is awake and quite coherent. Even if he is currently being buried in children and choking on his own spit from her very blunt truths. Lurien is practically vibrating where he stands, body buried within his cloak. He's hiding behind Grimm as best as he can, seeming on the very edge of running for his life, and she is not going to stand for this. "Be silent, you three," Camellia says, and she's both pleased and displeased when all three snap their mouths shut, "I'm going to take the children and bring them to their nest, and you three are going to talk. And when I return, you will have listened to each other and fixed whatever stupidity is happening right now. Am I understood?"

Silence. Dead silence.

She smiles and it's all teeth. "I should be hearing an echo."

No fool, Lurien nods frantically. "Yes, my lady," he manages, fingers gripping tightly at Grimm's arm. Grimm hisses at him, but the Watcher doesn't let go.

Camellia strides over to her husband's bednest, gently nudging Hallow until their eyes open. "Will you grab Spark and Ember, dear child? I can take the other three and we'll go let these three fools work out their issues."

Hallow nods and gets to their feet, stumbling a bit as they misjudge where their legs are in reference to the ground. They gather themself quickly, far more graceful than they used to be when freshly molted, and carefully gather the twins into their arms. Ember squeaks a little in annoyance, but nuzzles down after a moment, their face pressing against their twin's cloak. Camellia giggles softly and presses her mask back onto her face, then bundles the unnamed triplets into her arms. They're clearly awake and they curl in easily, butting heads gently and chirping softly. "Follow me, dear child," she says breezily, sweeping towards the door. Hallow follows her obediently, and she steps aside to let them pass, then levels her husband with a look. "Fix this," she tells him, and slams the door shut.

The soft curse she barely hears through the now closed door makes her smirk.

"We should take these little ones to the garden," she decides lazily. "The nest may be a little loud right now, given that Charm got sent there earlier for trying to run off with the kitchen knives again." Hallow makes a chirping noise, most likely laughter, and she can't stop the giggle that escapes her when the three in her arms immediately snap to attention. "Oh? You like that?"

They chirp up at her, and then the smallest of the three, with the horns that curve sharply inwards, a second smaller set above them, waves a hand and makes a gesture. Camellia peers down at it as she walks, taking great care to not accidentally hit a wall. "Quiet?" They shake their head and make the gesture again, changing it slightly. Camellia frowns. "Silence?"

A very loud chirp of victory, and the little one bounces in her arms, making the sign for yes and name over and over. "Ah," Camellia says, feeling very pleased, "I see you've named yourself. Greetings to you, Silence."

Hallow chirps in greeting and the other two immediately start chirping in return, sounding rather frantic. The eldest sibling peers down at them, clearly paying attention to something only they can hear, and then shrugs as best they can with Spark and Ember still asleep in their arms. The little one with the horns similar to Silence, but lacking the second set, waves their hands and makes the sign for listen, then points at their still unnamed sibling and forms a few more signs. "Repeating sound?" Camellia says, confused. "Do you mean an echo?"

They nod.

"Oh," she says, thinking back over her conversation with her husband and his two idiots. "I used all three of those, didn't I? Did you three hear them and decide you liked the sound of it?"

Echo nods, looking very pleased with themself. " _Happy!_ " they sign, and Camellia gently presses them closer to her chest in a hug. They chirp, nuzzling against the fabric of the dress she's wearing, and she laughs softly. To think, that some time back, she'd been prepared to lose her only child to the Burning Light. Yet now, here she stands, with fifteen children in the palace, all clamoring for her attention. Her heart is bursting with joy, all of the nature in the area blooming with wild abandon. 

Her eldest peers at her, just as tall as she is, and Camellia smiles gently. Echo, Listen, and Silence are chirping in her arms, clearly having a conversation that she isn't privy to. They gesture wildly as they speak, their whole body displaying their excitement. She laughs and steps out into the gardens, gently moving to settle beneath the largest tree, letting the three in her arms scramble down to the ground. They chirp even more wildly, and she waves to Hallow, beckoning them over. "I can take those two," she tells them softly, reaching up to take Spark and Ember, "if you would like to play with Echo, Silence, and Listen."

They nod and settle the twins down onto her lap. She settles them in, smiling as they clutch at the fabric of her dress while they slumber. Hallow scrambles off into the gardens, chirping loudly as they chase down their siblings. She can hear the three screeching loudly as their eldest sibling crashes through the foliage, and it quickly devolves into sheer chaos.

Listen skids around a large tree, shrieking at the top of their lungs as Hallow follows closely behind. They lead Hallow on a merry chase, ducking through small areas that their much larger sibling can't reach, and using their smaller size to their advantage.

Silence screeches in offended fury when Listen leads Hallow straight to them, the smallest of the triplets immediately barreling towards a tree with low-slung branches. They scramble up the branches and leap straight across open air, grabbing onto a branch that is just out of Hallow's range, and immediately settle for mocking the two still in rage.

Echo hisses dangerously from somewhere close nearby and Camellia glances to the side. They peer up at her and nuzzle closer against her side, chirping softly in glee. Clearly Echo had decided that she's a very safe location to hide, given that Ember and Spark are still asleep on her lap. Rather wise of them, but she's not going to be a safe spot, not when she's already got two sleeping children on her lap. "Hallow!" she calls, watching as Echo stiffens. "I have a sibling over here, trying to hide!"

Hallow glances up from where they're attempting to get Silence out of the tree, then darts forward in a quick dash. Echo screeches their betrayal and bails immediately, crashing into the underbrush with Hallow close behind. Camellia laughs freely, listening to them vanish in the distance, and glances up at the window to the room her husband is currently in.

There's no screaming. Yet. Good enough, she supposes. She'll just have to bully them into dealing with their feelings when she gets back later. There will be no more helpless pining while she's around. Not anymore. She is not dealing with this any longer.


	50. Lurien the Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame teddy for this one

There are ghosts within a palace.

Many, _many_ ghosts.

The children are determined to make themselves known as they figure themselves out, announcing their names and personalities to the world. Charm, Nail, and Shield are the first of the children to pick their names, the first to show just how unique they are.

Charm is a sweet child, right up until they decide they want something. They have a love for sharp objects, especially _shiny_ sharp objects, and Lurien has found himself taking away the sharp items more than once. It's incredibly alarming how quickly they seem to be able to gather them. Just two days ago, Lurien had stumbled across a stash of sharp objects within a closet. He'd immediately taken them back to their original places, including the nail back to one of the Knights.

(Ogrim had been rather sheepish about not realizing Charm had taken that.)

Shield is the rather vicious one. They have a sharp temper and are always down to scuffle; they can often be found down on the training fields, their tiny nail banging against Isma's own. They're incredibly fierce, and stars forbid if you upset one of their siblings. The last time Ogrim had accidentally made one of the smallest children cry, Shield had wasted no time in banging their nail against the knight's knee, screeching loudly.

Nail is surprisingly the only reasonable one of the three. They have yet to pick up a weapon, not even a simple staff. Lurien finds himself being accompanied fairly often by Nail. As soon as the little one had expressed an interest in learning how to paint, he'd practically jumped upon the occasion.

But none of the children are here currently. Camellia had taken both the newly named Ember and Spark, as well as the unnamed triplets and Hallow.

Now Lurien finds himself trapped within the room, staring wide-eyed at both the Troupe Master and his King.

He stares at them from his position on the wall, stiff and terrified out of his mind. Grimm and Ambrosia stare back at him, the Wyrm's eyes swinging back and forth between the two of them.

On one hand, he could deny everything and immediately bail out of the open window. On the other hand, he really doesn't want to face Camellia's wrath should she find out he ran for his life.

"Ah," he manages, nervously wringing his hands out beneath his cloak. Grimm's eyes flicker quickly from him to Ambrosia's face, then back again.

Ambrosia stares at him, silvery eyes huge. His gaze swings from his to meet Grimm's own, the Troupe Master wincing and glancing quickly towards the Watcher. "Lurien. Grimm," he whispers, then closes his eyes and clears his throat. "Speak to me. Tell me what Camellia said is true."

Lurien freezes, and he knows that he's gone pale beneath his mask. Grimm breathes in sharply and looks away.

Something tightens in his chest when Ambrosia's face crumples, the Wyrm staring down at his lap as he twists his hands. "We understand," he murmurs, soft and quiet. "We would like to be alone now."

Grimm actually takes a step to the door, looking rather apologetic about the whole situation, and Lurien finds himself growling. It's not a natural sound for a butterfly such as himself to make, but his wings fluff up and vibrate wildly beneath his cloak. He stalks forward, feeling his hands ball up beneath his cloak, and lashes out quickly. "You _coward_ ," he hisses, feeling a deep satisfaction as the Troupe Master hits the ground with a thud and a squawk.

"Excuse me?" Grimm screeches from his position on the floor.

"I said, you're a _coward,_ " Lurien snarls, reaching up to remove his mask. He drops it onto the side table, ignoring the way Ambrosia breathes in sharply at the sight of his face. He turns to face his king, and braces himself, then smiles. "Luckily for you, I fear Camellia's wrath more than I fear spilling about my own emotional feelings."

Ambrosia's eyes grow wide and he swallows visibly. "My Watcher?" he asks, and Lurien can hear the way his voice shakes.

He settles down at the edge of the table, next to the nest, and takes Ambrosia's top set of hands within his own. They're smeared black from handling void, forever stained with the marks of his experiments. Lurien ducks his face, gently leaning down until he can press his face against the back of one. Ambrosia makes a noise, high pitched and desperate, and Lurien glances upwards, smug. "I do not know what Camellia has told you, but I can tell you this: I have loved you since we first met."

A very high pitched sound escapes Ambrosia and Lurien moves to meet him eye to eye. "And Grimm, despite his best efforts, has not taken his eyes off of you while you were unconscious." The Troupe Master makes a hissing noise but doesn't deny it, then moves forward to elbow Lurien aside.

The Watcher gasps at the motion, his hands sliding out of Ambrosia's own, and all of the confidence he had mustered slips away like rain in the City of Tears. Oh gods, did he really just do that? Lurien turns so he's no longer facing them and covers his face with his hands, feeling the way his antennae prick upwards from his embarrassment. Behind him he can hear Grimm talking with Ambrosia, and the familiar squeaky voice the Wyrm only gets when he's really flustered.

Gods, but hopefully that's good enough that Camellia doesn't kill them.

Lurien drags himself back together and turns around, watching as Grimm does his level best to fluster Ambrosia. It's not taking much, admittedly, and he moves so that only the Troupe Master can see his quick hand signs. " _Follow my lead,_ " he tells him, smirking mischievously, and then moves so that he's on the other side of his beloved's bedrest. Grimm blinks, slowly, but then moves to the opposite side, copying him as he moves in to nuzzle at one side of Ambrosia's face. "Beloved," Lurien purrs, low and soft, and probably the sexiest he's ever been, and the squeak that comes from Ambrosia is well worth the flailing. 

Camellia returning to the room only ten minutes later to chuckle at the three of them, both him and Grimm curled around Ambrosia, does nothing to dampen his mood.


	51. Camellia

There are no ghosts in the White Palace.

At least, there shouldn't be.

There might be three once she's done making burying them, assuming they haven't messed up so badly that Ambrosia is in tears.

Camellia lets the children scramble off with Hallow, watching as they disappear around the corner. They're chirping loudly as they dart around the corner and she gets to her feet, carefully making her way back into the palace. She easily finds her way into the kitchens, picking up a platter of fresh honey cakes, and heads down towards the rooms she'd left earlier.

The closer she gets to the room, the more nervous she gets. But thankfully there doesn't seem to be any screaming, and Camellia relaxes. She carefully bumps the door open and peers in, pausing when she realizes what she's seeing. Her husband is curled up within the bed still, but Lurien and Grimm are on either side of him, pressed in close. Lurien's mask is even set aside on the table, his face bared for the first time in a long time. They're all asleep, her husband tucked between them due to his much smaller size, and Grimm's face is mushed up against his crown.

She sets the tray of honey cakes down onto the table and takes a seat in a chair, idly removing her mask and setting it aside. The honey cakes are soft between her fingers and she pulls one apart, greedily enjoying the soft, flaky dough and the sweet honey drizzled over top.

Her husband grumbles in his sleep and she can see the glow behind his eyes flaring up as he returns to the waking world. He looks around quickly, sharp gaze immediately focusing on her and the wonderful treat she holds in her hands. "Camellia," he says, voice low and rough with sleep and want, and she can see the way his tongue flicks out to lap at his mandibles.

"Come and get it," she tells him sweetly and is immediately graced with the glorious vision of her husband struggling to escape the hold Lurien and Grimm have on him. He writhes beneath them, their arms wrapped firmly around his waist, clearly doing his best to get out of the bed and across the floor to her and the glorious treat she's currently holding.

"Camellia," Ambrosia hisses, and she can see his tail thrash beneath the pale shift, "give me that." She smiles widely, all teeth, and pops another piece into her mouth. The sound he makes is terrifying, thousands of voices all layered on top of each other, and the glow of his eyes becomes so bright she can no longer see any silver. Gods, but she loves this dumb bug and his disaster of a obsession for honey cakes.

Camellia laughs, bright and cheerful, and casually moves back far enough that he can't reach the honey cake in her hands. " _You._ " He bares his teeth at her, his one remaining mandible peeling back far enough to reveal the gaping jaw of teeth, a leftover from when he was a Wyrm, and she smirks at him.

"Oh, my dear beloved Wyrm, I said, _come and get it_."

Ambrosia's eyes flash, going brilliant white for but a second, and both Grimm and Lurien make noises of complaint. He immediately drops his gaze and she watches with deep amusement as he forces his glow down, muting it until it's little more than a shimmer across his chitin. "My dear Root," he purrs, fluttering his eyes at her as best he can, "would you be so kind as to hand me one of those? I seem to be stuck."

She considers it. He has done very well, healing so nicely and even managing to figure out whatever he has with Lurien and Grimm. There wasn't even any screaming for their room while they worked it out. Camellia reaches over to the tray and carefully picks up the biggest of the rolls. It's sticky to the touch and she can smell the lovely fragrance of fresh baked bread and sweet Hive fresh honey. Ambrosia makes a pleading noise, giving her wide, big, innocent eyes, and she smirks at him. "And how are you going to eat this while your hands are pinned as they are, my dear?" she asks, and watches as his gaze snaps down.

Both of his arms are pinned, one set on each side by Lurien and Grimm. His gaze narrows, slow and cautious, and Camellia can honestly say she's deeply amused by how careful he is to not wake them as he extracts his hands from their grip. "You," she tells him, "are disgustingly smitten."

"I am," Ambrosia says with a soft sigh, reaching out to take the sticky bun from her, cradling it within his void-stained hands. "And I pretended to not see it for far too long. As always, you are right, my dear Root."

Camellia leans back, pleased, and picks up a new honey cake. She turns it from side to side, examining it closely, and tears out a large bite. She can see her husband out of the corner of her eyes as he carefully peels the cake apart layer by layer, his single remaining mandible clicking as he greedily consumes it. He pops a long layer into his mouth, making soft, content chirping noises, and she laughs at the smears of honey now decorating his mandible. Gods, she really loves him.

"My dear Wyrm," Camellia says, setting aside her honey cake and wiping her hands clean of sticky honey. He pauses and peers up at her, blinking widely even as he shoves the last of his sweet into his mouth. She gets to her feet and calls her roots, gently removing her husband from the death grip Lurien and Grimm have on him. He curls up on her lap, against her chest, and she nuzzles against his face, feeling the way his whole body is almost vibrating from the rumbles in his throat. She casts a glance at the bed, and the way the two remaining have curled up against each other, and leans back, reaching to grab a honey cake. Ambrosia greedily takes half of it from her, and she leans in close, their voices soft in the silence of the room.

Grimm and Lurien won't wake up for quite a while, but when they do, Camellia is reading quietly with her husband asleep pressed up against her side. "Good morning," she tells them as they blink widely up at her. They glance at her, then realize they're pressed up against each other, and the squawk Grimm lets out makes Camellia laugh so hard she drops her book on Ambrosia's face.


	52. Grimm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still shaken up but i wanted to write, so have a chapter. its mostly grimm being gay

There aren't any ghosts within the White Palace.

If there are any ghosts left within these walls, he hasn't found them.

Grimm wishes he could become one, though. It would be easier to crawl into that hole than face the sheer embarrassment awaiting him. But clearly Camellia is to be feared, judging by the way Lurien blurts out his love for the Wyrm, and so he finds himself hesitating on leaving.

Should Divine ever learn that he ran like a fool, she would never _ever_ let him hear the end of it.

So he stays even after he's been called a coward and slugged. Leans against the wall in a casual move that he definitely doesn't feel, and watches with burning jealousy as Lurien talks with Ambrosia, holds his hands, and gently presses their faces close. Gods, but he never thought he'd be jealous of a stupid butterfly, but here he is. Standing against a wall, pretending that watching two of the bugs he loves interact with each other.

"Grimm," Lurien says, and there's a challenging look written all across his face. "I never took you for a bigger coward than I am."

He hates that the other knows him well enough that it works. Hates that the smug quirk of the butterfly's mouth makes him straighten up and the desire to wipe the look clean off whirls through him. "You," he hisses, and Lurien laughs. It's different from Ambrosia's pitched more breathless and hitched, Lurien's eyes crinkling up at the edges, and Grimm's breath catches in his throat. 

Without their masks, both Lurien and Ambrosia are completely breathtaking.

(Grimm remembers when he first met them, Ambrosia on his throne with mask in place, an intimidating ruler with an arrogant streak a mile long. He originally hated the Wyrm, and was quite displeased every time they had to interact. But watching the bastard interact with his people, the patience and understanding, the way he easily solved problems, and was a skilled fighter.

And then there's Lurien, whom Grimm has never seen beneath his cloak but he knows he loves him anyway. The way the other laughs when he paints, occasionally singing and humming as he works. The gentle care and the intense focus, the meticulous eye for details. Lurien is not arrogant or prideful the way Ambrosia can be, his self-esteem is far, _far_ lower, but he's gentle and easy-going. But that's not to say he doesn't have his own sharp claws, for he can easily hold his own in battle.

Oh, but Grimm does so like it when his interests are as pretty and dangerous as he is.)

Lurien is still laughing at him, Grimm realizes once he's dragged himself out of his own thoughts, and away from how pretty the two's eyes are. Purple and silver, and gods but he wants to sit back and watch them press up against each other.

_No,_ he thinks. _Down_. He strides across the room and pushes Lurien aside, easily snatching up Ambrosia's hands as they're dropped. Grimm studies them for a moment, noting how stained with void they are, and then leans down to press his mouth against them. Ambrosia's breath hitches just slightly, an upwards tilt that Grimm doubts anyone lesser than him would notice, and he smirks. "You are unfairly pretty, do you know that?"

Ambrosia makes a squeaking noise. "I'm bandaged, one of my mandibles is broken off--I still don't know how that happened, by the way--my arm is broken, my chest was caved in. I'm _pretty_?"

"Oh, you're absolutely radiant," Lurien chimes in, because he's a bastard who likes stealing Grimm's candlelight. "I never would think otherwise."

Clearly some hero worship going on here, and from the look on Ambrosia's face, he sees it, too. That should probably be nipped in the bud right now, if Grimm's being entirely honest. Not really a good relationship if one of the partners is practically worshiping the ground the other walks on. "Ah," he says, attempting to think this through, but Ambrosia gets there first.

"Lurien," the Wyrm says softly. "I murdered hundreds of thousands of children."

The butterfly goes still, confusion crossing his face.

"No mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering. I was _wrong_ , and for that, their deaths are on my hands." Ambrosia closes his eyes, regret and pain flickering across his face. "I did that, and I blame myself for it, and no amount of excuses can change what I did."

_Well,_ Grimm thinks, looking at the confusion on Lurien's face that's slowly turning into anger, _that's one way to destroy hero worship._ "I saw the corpses myself," he offers softly, and Lurien snaps around to stare at him. "It cannot be fixed, but it can be remembered and never repeated."

"Children," the butterfly repeats, and it takes Grimm a second to remember that the butterfly is incredibly fond of hatchlings.

Ambrosia sighs, reaching out to take Lurien's hands. "I was desperate for answers against Radiance's burning light. I had exhausted every other answer and my foresight failed to give me anything else. The vessel plan was terrible, and the best I can do is make up for it." He peers at Lurien, grief written clear across his face. "I will raise my children and be a proper parent to them. It's the least I can do, after all the damage I have caused."

Grimm watches emotions play out over Lurien's face until eventually the Watcher's shoulders slump and he sighs heavily. "Why do you tell me this?"

"So you do not worship me blindly, my beloved Watcher." Ambrosia shakes his head. "Too many do so, and the Soul Master is proof enough when it goes wrong." He leans forward and sighs softly, letting his lower set of hands settle within Lurien's own. "I do not wish to be worshiped by my lovers."

"I hate when you make sense," Lurien sighs out. Ambrosia relaxes, slumping on the nest, and Grimm doesn't hesitate to flop down beside him, dragging the Wyrm down. He yelps loudly, hands tightly gripping Lurien's own, and their combined weight drags the Watcher down with them.

"Rest," the Troupe Master orders, deciding that he can absolutely take advantage of this situation. He lets go of Ambrosia's hands to wrap them around the Wyrm's waist. Lurien grumbles, but joins them. Grimm sighs in relief. He knows that Lurien will have some thinking to do, but perhaps they will escape this fairly unscathed.

At least, that's what he hopes. He doesn't think he can handle seeing Ambrosia so injured again.


	53. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the disappearance lol -- maiden beat path of pain on steel soul mode and i had to one up her (i failed RIP, spent 3 hours in there and didn't get through all the way)
> 
> getting age of calamity today, so chapter is here because im mad dumb and want the Dads (i love kohga and sooga so much okay)

There are ghosts within Kingdom's Edge.

There are many ghosts, copses scattered across ledges, and three living, breathing ghosts sitting in a cave.

One of them has their head bowed, expression bland and blank, caught up in the memories of the past. They're shaking slightly, the radiant glow of their eyes dulled to little more than a flicker.

All they can see is the corpses of someone they loved, and one they could have learned to love.

The scenes whirl past their mind's eye, from the empty, ruined town of Dirtmouth to the usurped Queen's Gardens, stolen from the Goddess of nature Herself. Myla's terrible death in Crystal Peak (they hadn't meant to, they hadn't realized until it was far too late, their nail digging into her chest as she screamed in pain, the way the orange faded from her eyes so she could see that the one who killed her had been her friend). Their father's death in the White Palace, a ruined corpse on his throne, smeared with orange as a final parting shot from the Burning Light (they want to hate him, oh how they desperately want to, but She had taunted them with their father's death, his failure to protect his child, the images She had shown them their first ascent had made them hesitate with their anger). Their mother, wasting away in her gardens, bound up tight and blind as to not recognize them (her, they are still angry at, still furious, they are not a replacement for their twin, and they would never lay a hand upon them, how _dare_ she try to convince them to do so). Cloth's death in the Gardens (oh if they had known, they could have saved her, yet she was peaceful in death, happy to rejoin her beloved). Tiso, his corpse lying on his side, the faint whisper of _Why?_ floating in the air (they are stunned when they come across him, he'd been so confident, so strong, and here he is dead and gone). Quirrel at the lake, their last talk with him as he'd confessed about his memories slowly returning (when the scholar is gone and the wanderer is gone, what is left behind but an empty shell full of memories that aren't his?)

Oh, how they grieve, and they remember, and they wish they had the ability to scream because they would without hesitation. Abyssal Shriek is not enough voice, for it belongs to everyone but themself.

(They have no voice, other than the screaming that is echoing through the void, unheard by all with the connection now closed.)

" _You_ ," someone hisses. " _How dare you_."

Ghost looks up, staring right into the furious gaze of another ghost (long dead, long gone, their past in front of them) and jerks when hands are yanked right from their own. They reach out, attempting to take those hands back, but pain flares up and their head snaps to the side from the force of the slap.

Startled, they fall back, collapsing against the ashy dirt of Kingdom's Edge, and stare up at Quirrel. He looms over them, fists balled and snarling loudly beneath his mask, and far _far_ more aggressive than they've ever seen. "How _dare_ you," he repeats.

They don't know what they've done wrong.

"You think you can just march in here and show me things like that? That it's going to make me happy? That you can just push illusions upon me and expect me to automatically side with you? That if I break down sobbing, I would understand? _How dare you_."

They _really_ don't know what they've done wrong.

Quirrel is seething with anger, that much they know, and they can barely see his eyes through his mask, narrowed and glittering with rage. He's spluttering now, so furious he can't even put together words, and Ghost still has no idea what they've done.

(It's Tiso who stops it, in the end.)

Tiso, who despite shaking himself, tears visibly spilling out of the darkness of his hood (they don't know that it's from the shared emotions that came from the memories, not yet), who lays his hand on Quirrel's shoulder and drags him back. Quirrel hisses furiously, a rattling noise in his chest that shakes Ghost to their core, but lets the ant drag him back a few steps. "Ghost of Hallownest," he says slowly, sounding the words out in his mouth (repeated the words he heard in the memories, their sister's cruel words that slowly become truth, she _named them_ ).

_Yes, yes, yes, us, us, us,_ they whisper, and Quirrel visibly winces, hands flying up to press at the side of his face, clutching at his hood.

"Stop that!" he snarls and they flinch back into the ground. Quirrel stills, stepping back a little when Tiso again lays a hand on his shoulder.

The ant peers down at them, still pressed against the ground, and sighs. "You don't know what you're doing, do you." It's not a question, but it still gets Quirrel to look at him curiously. Cautiously. "Ghost of Hallownest, please project your words out loud, and not through someone else's mind. That's very rude, and extremely violating, when you do not have permission."

They don't understand, what's the difference between that and what they're doing now? But for them they would do anything, anything at all (including dying, but that's another story).

"You really don't know, huh," Tiso says, sighing the words out as he reaches underneath his hood to rub at his face. "That's . . . annoying. And a problem." Quirrel glances at him, body language shifting from aggressive to annoyed and confused, but he doesn't do anything else. Tiso crouches in front of them, draping his arms over his knees, and peers closely. "You haven't been using that very long, have you?"

_No_ , they think, and shake their head. It's only been a day, maybe two days at most since Herrah told them about their ability. Tiso winces slightly, one hand shifting to press against his head.

"Please use sign," the ant begs. "Your telepathy is giving me a headache."

Quirrel hisses, fingers clenching into a fist. "You're really going to let that slide? They violated our minds without permission."

"With no idea what they were doing, Scholar. Would you blame a hatchling for a curse word? No? Then sit down and please stop talking. You are literally making this worse."

"How can you be so calm? They showed us our own corpses!"

Tiso groans. "I am pretending I didn't see that, right now. They are distressed, didn't mean to do what they did, and you are making this worse. Sit down and shut up before I _make you_."

Quirrel gives him a furious look and stalks off to the other side of the cave, dropping by the fire and ignoring the both of them. Tiso rubs at his face with a sigh and turns back to look at them. His stance is guarded, but not unfriendly.

Ghost wants to _cry_.

(They still don't know what they did wrong.)


	54. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got age of calamity yesterday and immediately got sucked into it. the voice actors are SO GOOD, and i was not expecting to be slapped as hard as i was. sooga/kohga is so wholesome and im so goddamn soft.
> 
> i also joined the "rhoam is a piece of shit club" immediately, and am vying for the yiga dads to adopt link and zelda. let them be happy, goddammit

There is a ghost within Kingdom's edge.

This ghost is shaking, collapsed on the ground, thick black tears building up at the edges of their eyes.

Tiso crouches in front of them, gently reaching out to take their hands, and they know they're shaking violently. He peers at them from the depths of his hood, his eyes glowing from the deep shadows. "New to telepathy, huh?" Tiso asks, moving so he's sitting cross-legged in front of them. There's sympathy written in the line of his shoulders, and the complete lack of anger at their apparent faux pas.

They sniffle, sounding pathetic to their own ears, and nod. Unconsciously they think of Herrah telling them they have the ability only a day ago, and Tiso visibly winces. "You're still projecting," he says, dropping their hands so he can prop himself up on his knees.

Ghost pulls back. They don't know how they're doing it, how to stop, or even how they started doing this. The memories from the hotspring trickle back to them, the way they snarled into the mind of the bug who dared attack their baby brother, and they wince. Tiso, apparently, capable of seeing these memories, reaches out a hand and presses it against Ghost's mask. "You need to draw back," he says. "You're not just projecting out loud, you're projecting into the minds of those around you." He breathes in slowly, and then his eyes flicker, glowing brighter within the depths of his hood. Ghost rubs the void off of their mask and shakes their head.

Draw back, huh. They don't know how to do that.

The ant hums slowly, softly. "May I show you?" he asks, waiting patiently as they mull it over. They don't know what exactly he wants to show them, but they do know that he is a warrior. He wouldn't harm them unless in battle, and even then they know he is honorable.

_Yes,_ they tell him, and flinch back when Quirrel hisses out loud. He's still glaring at them, arms crosses as he sits at the fire. Tiso sighs loudly and glances back, then visibly rolls his eyes.

"Ignore him" he says. "I grew up in a colony where telepathy is normal. Verbal communication isn't very good across large distances, and there's only so many times you can transfer an order before it gets all jumbled up." Tiso grins at them, his teeth glinting and sharp. "So, yes, I am very familiar with telepathy. Including having new users."

_Oh_ , Ghost thinks, and he laughs at them. They can feel it when he leans forward, his mind brushing against their own. Unconsciously they press against it, feeling the sharp and rough edges push them back and away. 

_No,_ Tiso tells them, _pull back into your own mind. The shelter of your own head._

They attempt to do as he tells them, and fail, but he just huffs an amused laugh. He easily bundles them up so they're not pressing their mind against others, pushing them back mentally until there is nothing but the inside of their own mask. _There_ , Tiso whispers softly, and pulls back himself. He grins at them, lazily. "Got a better idea, now?"

It takes them three attempts to respond before they finally find the words. " _Thank you_ _,_ " they sign and the ant shrugs.

"Don't mention it. Really. You may be an adult but it's painfully clear you haven't been taught anything."

That's definitely true. They'd learned everything they know themself. Minus a few select techniques from the Nailmasters, of course, along with their sibling teaching them a little about soul magic, but other than that? Nothing. They nod slowly, feeling loss when Tiso lets go of their hands.

Quirrel snorts from his position and Ghost peers over at him, watching as he expertly rotates the kills Tiso had brought back earlier. "Fantastic," he says flatly, "so you're just going to let them get away with that, huh." They can't see his side-eye from beneath the mask, but they know it's there and they cringe back.

Tiso glares at him. "They're literally a beginner, Quirrel. You can't blame them for not knowing the difference between the two versions of telepathy."

"They showed us our own deaths!" Quirrel shrieks, jamming his claws into the shell of a Primal Aspid. It cracks loudly, breaking into pieces and he visibly drags himself back.

"That's true." Tiso sighs and shifts so he's facing Ghost again. "You wanna explain that one, Ghost of Hallownest."

_Just Ghost_ , they think, and relax when neither Tiso or Quirrel react. " _How much do you know about the Wyrm and the_ _Infection?_ " they ask, and watch as both go still.

"Not much, actually," Tiso says, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I know it was the Radiant Light who caused it. It confused me for a while, since back in the colony She was our primary goddess. Benevolent and kind."

"As long as you followed her will," Quirrel mutters, turning one of the aspids slowly. Tiso sighs heavily, but doesn't disagree. "I may be a scholar, but I know enough about gods to know I don't like most of them."

"I thought I knew her." Tiso looks up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands. "I really did. But the more I look back at my colony, the more I start to realize that it wasn't worship. Not the way it was meant to be. It was Radiance or death. You didn't get a chance to fight back either. You were just executed."

Quirrel whirls around with a sharp inhale. "That's terrible!"

Tiso looks grim. "That's why my sister left the second she was chosen as new queen. I wish I'd left with her, but I'd still been stuck in the colony mindset to get out." He reaches to press a hand against his shield and heaves a sigh. "I did eventually drag myself free, but the cost was far too high."

Ghost can definitely understand that sentiment. " _We are a god_ ," they sign, and watch as the other two visibly start at the admission. " _Sometimes the cost of a victory is far too great._ "


	55. Tiso

There is a ghost within Kingdom's Edge.

Tiso doesn't know what to do with this ghost.

Or the fact that they seem to be on the verge of tears.

He sits next to them, legs crossed, and reaches out to grab one of the aspids that's hanging over the fire. The ghost lets out a pitched noise, sharp and breathy, when he shoves it into their hands, and then they're doing that wonderful dance of _oh gods that's hot!!!_ that usually comes with bouncing said hot object from hand to hand without dropping it. Tiso takes another aspid, deeply amused and thoroughly protected due to his chitin, and sinks his teeth into its soft flesh.

Ghost peels meat off of the hard shell and carefully sticks it beneath the bottom part of their mask, and Tiso catches a glimpse of sharp black mandibles and gleaming white fangs. He looks away.

"So," he says, carefully licking the juices off of his fangs, "you're a god, huh? Don't meet too many of those, where I'm from."

" _We are,_ " Ghost signs, and oh, he'd almost forgotten that they have a second set of limbs. The small, red bellied thing on their shoulder yawns now that it's not trying to bite them, and Ghost carefully feeds it some of the aspid. They glance at him, catching him staring, and their shoulders bounce slightly. " _That is Flame, our younger brother._ "

A sibling, huh. Not like they look anything like their brother, but Tiso can't say anything considering the way his colony used to take others in. He hums lazily and carefully bites into more of the aspid, tearing the meat away hungrily.

(Quirrel sits across from them, picking at his food and slipping it underneath his mask. He hasn't lifted it even the smallest bit. Tiso doesn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.)

Ghost finishes their aspid and lets the shell sink into whatever it is that makes up their body. " _May we have another?_ " they ask, and Tiso can see the way they automatically brace themself for rejection from Quirrel. Not happening on his watch, dammit.

"Sure," he says, and ignores the way Quirrel glances at him. At least the other has stopped glaring.

They take another of the aspids and tuck into it, easily feeding their brother in between bites until the little one curls up on their lap with a giant yawn and falls asleep. Tiso glances down at him and then braces himself. "So. What was with those visions? They definitely seemed too vivid to be fake, and I'm not sure how I feel about seeing my own corpse."

" _Ah,_ " Ghost begins and their hands are shaking now. They duck their head and press their hand against their brother's carapace. He murmurs in his sleep and rolls over, but doesn't move. " _We are the god of the void, a god of gods. What is time to a being above it?_ " Their head shifts and Tiso twitches at being under the full scrutiny of eight, glowing eyes. " _When one is desperate enough, even a mortal can break time._ "

That answers many things and nothing all at the same time. Tiso hates this sort of riddle talk. He's a warrior for a reason, dammit. It takes him several solid minutes just to puzzle out what the other has said, and even then it's Quirrel who sums it up.

"You're a Timeshard," he says slowly, discarding the shell of his aspid to the side. Quirrel takes another one off of the fire and begins tucking into it, but Tiso can see the way he's now interested in. . . whatever he just called them. "I didn't think it was possible to fall through time like that. You've clearly been here for at least a little while."

Ghost shrugs. They genuinely have no idea how long they've been back in the past. " _We apologize for throwing those memories at you. We only recently learned about our ability and no one explained how it works._ "

Tiso huffs. "Don't like the fact that you apparently saw my corpse."

" _Found it here, actually. You died in the Trial of the Fool. Made it all the way to the Brooding Mawlek and then it landed on you._ " Ghost sighs softly and turns their face towards Quirrel, who stiffens.

"I don't want to know how I died, please," he says quickly, practically choking down the aspid in his mouth to get the words out.

That's fair, Tiso supposes. He kinda wants to know though, but it's probably better if he doesn't ask. Ghost nods in his direction, their hands flickering through the signs. " _We've already prevented it by consuming the burning light. We assume that the Wyrm has informed the Madam that she's no longer required to sleep?_ "

Quirrel stares at them. "He has," he says, slowly, and Tiso can practically see the gears of his mind grinding together. "The Madam was delighted to be able to continue her research."

Ghost's mask cracks and they form a jagged smile. " _Radiance is dead, and we now hold her position as the God of Dreams._ " They seal it back together and go back to picking what's left of the aspid clean, absorbing that corpse, too. A rather neat ability, all things considered, especially when the alternative is the shells that Tiso and Quirrel have been tossing aside. 

"So what does that mean?" Tiso asks. "I mean, you literally have a floating light above your head."

Their head spins around to stare at them, fast enough that Tiso actually winces at the crunch of chitin. _What?!_ they exclaim, the words echoing both in his mind and out loud, and he twitches slightly. Quirrel visibly stiffens but doesn't move, other than to stick his fingers beneath his mask to suck them clean of juices.

"Telepathy," he says in warning, and can feel the way their mind draws back behind their mask. "You have a glowing ball of light between your horns. Did you really not know?"

" _No_." Their hands shake. They breathe in slowly and drop their face into their upper set of hands, shoulders shuddering. Tiso scooches closer and wraps an arm around their shoulder, and attempts to think of any way to distract them.

"Do you want to learn how to project your voice so you can speak to others?" he asks instead of the rather obvious 'how can you not know you're literally a walking light source?' Ghost barks a rather cracked chirp and eventually nods. Tiso supposes he's averted that impending disaster, but now he gets to teach a god how to use telepathy. Gods, but he really hopes he doesn't fuck this up too badly. His sister would never let him live it down.


	56. Quirrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made mac n' cheese from scratch so chapter is late. sorry yall, tasty food comes first

There are ghosts within the Kingdom's Edge.

They're howling in rage, just barely heard over the wind that carries their voices.

Quirrel can hear them all too well. He really wishes he didn't.

But there's a ghost in front of him, living flesh and chitin and something else that he can't name. Black that swirls across their form, slinks from joint to joint and crawls across their shell. The knowledge that this bug in front of him is powerful beyond his imagination, a God in their own right that cast through themself through time.

A god who tore through his mind. On _accident_.

But Quirrel has always felt deja vu, always recognized places that he swears he's never been to before, people he looks at and thinks, "This isn't quite right, is it?" and then hasn't known why. The day the Pale King Himself came to the Archive, to pull the Madam away from her work so they could speak alone. . . Quirrel had known, had _known_ , that he wasn't going to like the answer. Knew that the moment he spotted the seals scrawled across papers, even if he had no idea what those seals would be used for. 

And yet, here he sits, across from a God that tore through his mind, watching as they carefully pick apart a roasted aspid, their claws slicing easily through the meat. There's a small hatchling on their lap, who occasionally lifts his head to accept a piece before nuzzling back into sleep.

He fears them. Fears the way they had forced themself into his mind, even if it was on accident, fears the way he had felt them push the memories through, fears the emotions of overwhelming grief and love that swamped him before he had shoved them away. He doesn't understand why and how Tiso can be so calm, so understanding, when he feels like every part of him has been violated to his very core.

Tiso keeps glancing at him, his hood shifting slightly as his gaze occasionally flickers over. Quirrel wants to snap at him, that he's _fine_ , except that he's not. He's shaking, and snippy, and feels like his head has been scrambled into pieces and then put back together shoddily. Quirrel feels like those stupid bowls that can be found in the noble's housing in the City of Tears, especially once one has been shattered. Pretty, and ultimately useless, cracked violently and someone attempted to glue the pieces back together except it didn't work.

Quirrel moodily picks at his aspid, then sighs heavily and starts licking juices off his fingers. To his left he can hear Tiso talking to the God, his low voice rough in a way that isn't disuse but is instead natural, and tries to not listen in too much. It's not working, especially considering the topic is telepathy and the variations, and Quirrel finds himself leaning a little closer as he listens.

Apparently telepathy is far more common in ant colonies, or at least the one Tiso is from. Quirrel hadn't known that Tiso was from a colony, but then again he really doesn't know much about the world outside of Hallownest, does he?

"External telepathy," Tiso says, and that's the kind Quirrel is the most familiar with, "is when you project your voice out loud for others to hear. It's very different from internal telepathy, which is when you project your voice into someone else's mind. That's the one you seem to be used to using."

The God's head tilts to the side as they mull over Tiso's words, then they slowly nod. " _Our siblings,_ " they sign. " _We are all connected, and our most common way of speaking is through the Void._ "

Tiso leans in, looking vaguely interested. "Siblings?"

" _Yes. The Void: all of us are connected to it. Hivemind, but not at the same time. All of us are connected but we have our own will and thoughts._ " They look oddly apologetic then, reaching to hand Quirrel another of the aspids. He hesitates slightly, then reaches out and takes it, cracking open the shell mask. " _We didn't know our communication could be used with those not of the Void._ "

"So you really didn't mean to do that then?" Quirrel finds himself asking, and the sound of his own voice in the cave makes him flinch. Both the God and Tiso's heads snap up, ten pairs of glowing eyes peering at him from the darkness. "You tore through my mind. I felt the emotions, felt the grief and the anger and the--"

He chokes himself off and looks away, thinking privately about the way the God had loved him enough to throw themself through time for him. By accident. 

They visibly wince. " _We didn't mean to. We're so sorry_ ," they sign, and Tiso reaches over to push down their hands.

Quirrel sighs and looks away. "Don't do it again."

"They can't promise that," Tiso says, firmly. "At least not until they're practiced enough with external telepathy. They're used to using internal, to the point where it's natural for them. Gods dammit all, I wouldn't be surprised if they revert to it whenever they're stressed."

Crude words, but Quirrel supposes that Tiso has a point. He's really not sure how he feels about a warrior having a better point than himself, a scholar, but he's not used to telepathy in the slightest. The most recent was when His Majesty projected his voice to be heard over the din of chattering in the Archives. Certainly nothing internal, the way Tiso is so visibly used to. He didn't even flinch when the God showed them their deaths.

("I did flinch," Tiso later tells him. "I flinched hard. But I'm used to this. Little hatchlings often catch onto telepathy first, long before they speak, and internal is usually the easiest to learn.")

So he sits by the fire, silent, and listens as Tiso carefully explains how to use external telepathy. How to project your mental voice out loud so that many can hear it. "I'm not very good at it myself," he says with a laugh. "My sister really is better at this than I am."

Monomon is good at this, Quirrel thinks all of a sudden, the thought striking him out of the blue like the few times the Teacher had chucked a book at him when he wasn't looking. She'd know exactly how to teach them, exactly how to explain it in a way that both makes sense and isn't condescending. Quietly, once they're done here searching for Tiso's sister in Kingdom's Edge, he resolves to drag the God to see the Madam.

They'd probably get along like a burning candle and a moth. The thought is horrifying.


	57. Ghost

There is a ghost within Kingdom's Edge.

Or, at least, there is only a ghost in name.

Quirrel is warming up to them, at least, they seem to think so. He no longer flinches away from them quite as much, though his stance is still wary, his eyes still occasionally flickering over towards them. They don't know what to do about it, other than be far less threatening than they actually are.

(That doesn't work when the one you are trying to appear nonthreatening to knows you are a god.)

They glance at him as Tiso explains external telepathy again for the twentieth time, in the hope that something will stick this time, only stopping when Flame apparently decides he's had enough and sinks his teeth into their fingers. A yelp escapes them and their head snaps down, leveling him with a glare as they shake him off of their hand. _No!_ they scold, reaching up to cradle their injured fingers. Void seeps out of the injury, sluggish and slow, and they focus for a moment, the wound vanishing in a glow of golden light. _That hurts!_

"Hey!" Tiso exclaims and they glance over at him, confusion rippling through their shell. "You did it!" He grins at them, beaming so widely that the light is catching off of his fangs.

Did they? They did what? They don't know what they did.

"You projected externally," Quirrel tells them and they glance up. He's leaning against the wall, a book in his grasp, and he seems incredibly amused. "A rather loud yelp of 'No!' followed immediately by 'That hurts!'" Lazily he flips the page and goes back to reading, his finger tracing the lines neatly.

Ghost peers at him, confusion radiating through their form. They did it? They _did_ it? They didn't even think that it would work. It hadn't been working for the last few times they'd attempted, after all. _We did it?_ they ask and almost immediately they can tell the difference. Internal is like pushing through the void, their voice echoed by the siblings long since dead. External does not have that tone, instead sounding like the pitch of a bell. They can feel the Dream Realm react to their voice, feel it swell upwards and drift back down like a wave.

Tiso nods rapidly. "You did it!" he claps his hands together. "That was impressive. You caught on to that really quickly."

_Not very good at it_ , they think icily, and both Quirrel and Tiso wince. The ant gently reaches over and thunks their shoulder firmly, something they'd agreed on the first time Ghost had used internal telepathy instead of external. They twitch slightly and draw back their mind as best they can, narrowing their eyes. This is far, far harder than they'd ever expected.

"Perhaps," Quirrel says, snapping his book shut with a sound that echoes through the cave. "Perhaps I may have a suggestion." They glance up at him and peer closely, tilting their head to the side.

"Oh?" Tiso asks, idly leaning back onto his hands. "What'cha got, Scholar?"

Quirrel coughs, suddenly looking rather sheepish. He shrugs his shoulders and laughs nervously. "My teacher, a wonderful bug, err, being, by the name of Monomon. She's an expert in external telepathy, given the number of times I've seen her yell her thoughts across the entire Archives. If she can't teach you how external telepathy works, then I don't know who will."

Tiso hums with a nod and moves to cross his arms over his chest. "Then we go back to the Archives after we speak to my sister?"

"Yes," Quirrel says, with a firm nod. He glances to the side and peers at Ghost, cautiously adding, "If that is all right with you, God?"

Ghost blinks at him. Does he not know their name? " _Our name is Ghost,_ " they sign, deeply amused, and watch with delight at his double-take.

"Oh," he squeaks, and they howl with laughter, their chirps mixing in with Flame's own cackles. Their sibling uncurls from his nap, startled by their laughter and egged into joining in. Flame crawls across their folded arms and up and onto their shoulder, letting his tiny legs dig into the void of their cloak. Ghost unwinds their tail and lets it flop, lazily flicking it. They snicker and stretch their arms outwards, feeling the way their joints shift and pop. "I'm so sorry, I've been calling you God in my head, oh my stars."

Tiso, who has apparently been keeping his laughter in, fails and curls up on himself, laughing so hard he's shaking. Quirrel kicks him and he makes a choked off snorting noise. "That's the best thing I've ever heard," he wheezes between breaths, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He's shaking from the force of his glee and Quirrel gets up to whack at him with his hands, the sound a dull thump on his armor. Ghost joins in his laughter again, their high pitched chirps of sheer delight making their body shudder. 

"You both are awful," Quirrel says with a huff, and goes to sit back with his book. He snaps it open and stares down at the text, but they can hear the way his breath hitches with stifled laughter. Not as offended as they thought he was, then. That's good. They'd been worried they'd actually upset him. "We should get a move on, so that Tiso can talk to his sister."

The ant lies on the floor for a while without moving, his cackles fading into choked off giggles and then hitched breathing. "Right," he wheezes. "My sister. Gonna talk to her, yeah sure. I'm pretty sure you just killed me and this is my version of the afterlife." 

"I hate you both," Quirrel says, but the way he covers his mouth gives him away. He pushes the book into his bag and gets up to inspect the fire, casually shoving the ashy dirt over it. The cave dims, now barely lit by the outside light, and he gracefully sweeps his way towards the opening. For a scholar, he certainly has all the deadly grace of a warrior. "Let's go find your sister, you terrible ant."

Tiso slowly gets to his feet and stretches, glancing at the cave entrance. "Yeah, yeah, keep your dumb bandana on. I'm coming." Ghost carefully gets to their feet and stretches lazily, reaching a hand up to make sure that Flame is still in place as they duck out and into the light. "Now, where is that coliseum?"

"Up there," Quirrel says, pointing towards where Ghost remembers it being, and they can feel their heart sinking in their chest. Tiso is searching for his sister, and there's only one other ant in this area that they remember.

(They killed her, once.)


	58. Tiso

There is a ghost within Kingdom's Edge.

At least, Tiso hopes that the only one is in front of him.

He doesn't know what he'll do if he finds out that his sister is dead. She's really the only thing he has left, now that he's left the colony.

(Fled it, really. He ran, terrified for his life, and was forced to watch a dear friend die, helpless to stop it.)

The Coliseum looms in front of them and Tiso finds himself shuddering at the sight of the massive corpse it resides within. Teeth so long they dwarf even the tallest of bugs, the sharp gleam of them making him nervous in a way that he doesn't not understand. Ghost doesn't seem to be affected, at least not the same way they are, because they stare up at the skeleton with a blank expression, their hands folded neatly beneath their floor-length cloak. Their sibling is draped across their shoulder, his teeth busily gnawing into some sort of ring that Tiso doesn't understand as they pet his back. Quirrel stands beside them, looking vaguely unimpressed with the entire area. Really, the ant can't blame him. It's not like the Coliseum is a really good place.

"Well?" he finds himself asking, probably a bit sharper than he intended. Tiso immediately coughs when he's given a sharp look, shoulders hunching in. "Sorry. I'm just nervous. It's been years since I last saw my sister and we didn't. . . it didn't go well."

Ghost peers at him as best they can, their eyes catching the light even behind the mask. " _Didn't go well?_ " they ask, tilting their head to the side. Their hands slip back beneath the cloak, the fabric rippling back into place like water, and they turn to stare at the Coliseum with something that Tiso can't name.

"No," he says, guilt digging its claws into his throat. "I was still listening to the colony's ideals. Still trapped and unable to see, _unwilling_ to see that I was just a pawn for the Queen. It didn't go well, especially since I pretty much considered her a traitor at the time." Tiso sighs heavily and rubs at his face, fangs clicking together nervously. He can feel the way his hands are shaking, a fine tremor that can only come from anxiety. "I said some shit I definitely shouldn't have, but I was blinded by the Colony."

"So what you're saying is that there's a really good chance you'll get us punched," Quirrel says flatly.

Tiso laughs and it's hollow, even to his own ears. "I'm saying there's a _very_ good chance that my sister will punch me unconscious."

" _Not the first time we've seen someone get punched out,_ " Ghost tells him, and Tiso can't help but wonder what they mean. " _Though we are usually the one doing it._ " 

Flame doesn't hesitate to leap off of his sibling's shoulder for that statement, abandoning the teething ring and sinking his teeth into their hands. They shriek and Tiso winces, unable to describe the sound. It's not telepathy this time, but the sound is pitched and echoing, something shattering in the tone. Like glass that has been dropped, again and again and again until the pieces have been worn smooth by time.

(Ghost sounds like a God, but as that is what they are, Tiso doesn't consider that an option.)

He steadies his shaking hands and strides into the Coliseum, pausing immediately at the entrance. There's a bug wrapped up in chains, hanging upside down and peering at them with beady eyes. "Aha! Another warrior finds their way to our fair Colosseum. Ours is the final destination for all seeking trials of intense and deadly combat!" the bug exclaims, swinging merrily from side to side. Tiso is nauseous just looking at the spectacle.

"All one has to do is place their mark upon their Trial Board of choice and lo! The arena's gate will open. There's a small fee attached to each trial, but I'm sure as skilled a combatant as yourself will have accrued a wealth of Geo." The bug swings to one side, twisting within his chains.

"Actually," Tiso says, because as fun as a coliseum fight sounds that's not what he's here for, "I wanted to speak with one of your champions."

The bug stops swinging. Goes still and peers at him. Tiso forces himself to not fidget. "Speak?"

"I believe she is one of your current fighters? An ant?"

The bug swings within their chains, seemingly thinking about it. "You will have to pay, you know. Nothing is free, here."

Tiso hisses angrily, pausing only when Ghost stalks by them and dangles a fat sack of geo in the bug's face. He can see the bug's eyes focus on it immediately, hands flexing beneath the chains in an attempt to grab at it. " _You may have all of this,_ " Ghost signs lazily, all lethal grace, and hooks the bag neatly onto the chains.

"Yeah, sure!" the bug says, clearly attempting to grab it. "There's a warriors' pit just below here, where others like yourself await their own trials. I'd strongly advise using it to rest up if you plan on placing a mark."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, but thank you for the advice," Quirrel says brightly as he makes his way towards the pit in the floor. "We won't be sticking around very long. Got other places to be, unfortunately." He sounds perfectly polite, even to Tiso's ears, and then jumps down into the pit with graceful ease. Ghost peers down into the darkness and carefully reaches up, bundling Flame into their arms, and then, with a quick glance to Tiso, they leap down after.

Well, damn. Looks like Tiso can't hesitate or stall anymore. Not when they're both already down in the pit and leaving him behind. He groans, sends one last glance at the bug spinning in chains and grasping frantically at the filled purse, and leaps down after.

He lands on the floor below with a grunt, trying to ignore the way the ground beneath him crunches uncomfortably. Whether its chitin, exoskeleton, mask fragments, or something else entirely, Tiso really doesn't want to know. He refuses to look down, refuses to even so much as glance down, and instead strides forward up to Quirrel and Ghost's side. His gaze flickers around the room, falling upon the one bug he's been searching for this entire time.

She doesn't look happy to see him, though he definitely doesn't blame her after their last encounter. "Hey, sis," he says, sheepishly.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stab you right here, right now."


	59. Ghost

There is a ghost in the Coliseum of Fools.

This ghost is shaking slightly, hiding it beneath the ripples of their cloak.

Tiso stands in front of them, arms crossed over his chest. He's staring at God Tamer with his shoulders set, pulled back and tight. ""You _could_ stab me now," he says flatly, sounding completely unimpressed by her threat, "or you _could_ wait until the arena and actually get paid to beat my ass."

God Tamer barks a laugh, lowering her nail slightly, and Ghost takes the chance to look her over. She's not wearing her helmet at this moment, her face bared to the inner walls of the Coliseum's resting area. There are scars on her chitin, one even arcing through her right eye, and they peer curiously at them. So this is Tiso's older sister, huh? They remember fighting her in the future, remember the way she had crashed down upon them and they'd panicked. The last bit of soul they'd had, soul they'd reserved for healing, was launched upwards in a furious abyssal shriek.

(They'd overestimated how much health she had. The blow killed her. They still remember the wail of her mount as it crouched over her corpse.)

"All right, Tiso," she says, and her voice is rougher than his. "I'll humor you. What in the Sun's name do you want?"

He sighs heavily and glances quickly at them, then back towards his sister. "To apologize, for one. You were right. The colony was a lie and it cost me Leria to get out."

She jerks backwards. "Leria's dead?" Tiso shows her his shield and she clearly recognizes it, with the way her eyes widen and her chitin screeches as her fangs grind against her face. "Shit. Tiso, I'm so sorry, I know you cared about them."

Tiso shrugs, and even Ghost can see he's far more affected than he's attempting to let on. "I'm fine. It's been a while. I'm fine, I promise." He tucks the shield back against his side then settles down onto the floor with a grunt, crossing his legs. "I will not lie, I'd love to return to the Colony and burn it to the ground, but I'm here and I don't have to see the Queen ever again." Tiso shrugs slightly. "I'm angry, but at least I can say I'm safe."

Ghost moves to settle down beside him, watching as Quirrel drops down on the ant's other side. Flame nuzzles down on their shoulder, his red eyes hooding lazily. " _Tiso, are you all right?_ " they asks, and they watch as his sister's eyes flicker towards them.

"Don't you dare," Tiso says, crossing his arms across his chest. She grins at them, all teeth, and snorts.

"Don't you dare, _what_ ," she returns with all the ease of a lethal warrior. "That my baby brother has a _crush_?"

The sound that comes out of Tiso's mouth is high pitched and squeaky and he lunges across the distance between them immediately. They crash to the ground and Tiso screeches loudly, doing his level best to claw at her face with his hands. She cackles madly as they tussle on the floor of the waiting room, and then promptly flips Tiso over and pins him with incredible ease. "I hate you," he seethes, mandibles smashed against the floor. 

They peer down at the floor and try not to wince at the sight of ruined chitin and broken masks that cover it. It's not something they'd ever considered before, given that they spent almost no time here at all. As soon as they'd been able to handle it, Ghost had run all three Trials in a row before leaving and never coming back. The sheer amount of money they'd landed hadn't been worth the trouble of getting it.

There were better ways: ways that didn't involve the murder of bugs who used to be sentient and sane. Ways that didn't involve their nail cleaving through chitin and flesh, splashing them and the area around them a brilliant orange.

"So," God Tamer says, peering at them with a smirk in her mandibles, "so you're the two my brother's being an idiot for."

Ghost doesn't know what she means by that. Flame seems to, though, with the way he cackles for a moment before shutting up.

Quirrel also seems to know what she means because he snorts loudly. "Hardly," he says, and reaches into his bag, bringing out a book. Ghost doesn't know why he's got that out right now, but he waves it in the air like a trophy. "That idiot showed up in Fog Canyon, insulted me, and I hit him in the head with this."

"Love at first sight, I see." She cackles wildly at her words. Tiso screeches at her in fury, but her grip is far too strong. Instead he just wriggles furiously beneath her, more indignant than actually angry. Flame cackles at his predicament from his position on their shoulder, and Ghost considers dragging him back beneath their cloak. The screeching he'll inevitably give out, along with the headache, isn't going to be worth it.

"You are terrible," Quirrel tells her, but he's obviously laughing. A bell sounds above them, the roar of the crowed in the arena growing louder for a moment. She grins at them and gets up off of her brother, leaping up to grab onto a piece of metal stuck into the wall.

"I've got a fight, but wait for me at the front of the Colliseum. Got something I want to do, but then we can talk. I'll see y'all later!" She bounces up through the opening and then shortly after, a gate slams shut with a heavy, foreboding clang. Tiso rolls himself over with a groan, flapping a hand against the ground. The chitin and masks clatter at the movement and Ghost cringes slightly.

The floor of the Coliseum reminds them far too much of the Abyss. They don't really want to be here anymore.

" _Can we leave?_ " they ask. " _We do not like it here._ " Quirrel blinks at them, they can see it behind the large holes of his mask, but he doesn't seem to force them to explain.

Instead, he gets to his feet with a grunt and reaches over to kick gently at Tiso's side until he gives in and gets up. "Right, you heard your sister. We're heading up to wait for her. I don't particularily want to have her hunt us down if we don't, thanks."

Tiso winces, clearly having experienced that before. "Yeah, Xena would absolutely do that. If only so she can grind my face into the dust again."

Ghost just wants to leave. The ruined, broken, shattered masks and chitin are staring at them, and they swear they can hear them screaming. Hundreds upon hundreds of dead ghosts, now doomed to be nothing more than the floor of an arena. They want out, _now_. 


	60. Quirrel

There are three ghosts at the edge of the Coliseum of Fools.

They reside in the shadows, just waiting silently after escaping the death that is the arena.

Quirrel can still hear the screaming coming from within. It makes his innards shiver unpleasantly, something horrible slithering within his chitin. Even Tiso seems unsettled, for as much as he enjoys battle there's something wrong with slaughtering others for the delight of noblemen. "This seems, I don't know, wrong," Quirrel at last says as they move a little further away from the entrance. The roar of the crowd rises, probably a particularly impressive kill and isn't that thought unsettling, and then dies away. Somewhere in the background, the pillbug swears he can hear the crowd chanting something. He's not sure if he wants to know what.

Tiso chances a glance towards the entrance and his gaze hardens. He drags his hood further up, shrouding the rest of his face in shadow, and leans back, crossing his arms. "I could probably get used to this," he admits, not sounding very happy about it. "But it wouldn't be fun or pretty." Quirrel lets his gaze flicker towards the entrance of the Coliseum again, feeling the way his flesh crawls at the roar of the crowd. "My sister better hurry the fuck up or I'm leaving."

"Ha ha, you're a riot, Tiso. I should've stabbed you earlier, it would have saved me a lot of aggravation."

Ghost perks up from where they've been sitting on the floor, Flame within their arms. The little one has been chewing heavily on the ring, only giving it up long enough for the God to refreeze it. He's currently gnawing fiercely on the ring, occasionally squeaking loudly whenever it slips out of his mouth. 

"If you'd wanted me dead, you'd have stabbed me as soon as I showed up," Tiso fires back with a snort. His sister, striding out of the Coliseum with blood on her mask, laughs.

"You're not wrong," she tells him. "You've never once won a match against me. Not even when we were kids." Quirrel watches as she lazily settles down onto the ground, carefully perching her weapon across her lap. "Anyway I wanted to see you fuckers off. And maybe get some actual introductions."

Quirrel carefully waves his hands to get her attention. "Well, I'm Quirrel, I'm a scholar who works under Madam Monomon in the Archives, and that's Ghost."

She peers at the God carefully, even going as far as removing her helmet so she can narrow her eyes at them. "You look like you could hit as hard as a Great Hopper," she eventually decides. "I'm that idiot's elder sister. My name's Xena." Xena leans back on her hands the same way Tiso does when he's thinking, and Quirrel can definitely see that they're related to each other.

"It's nice to meet you," he says instead, because he was raised properly no matter that Tiso seems to have been dragged into adulthood.

Xena cackles. "Oh, you're a polite one!" she exclaims, clapping her hands rather delightedly. "Maybe you can teach this dumb bitch some manners." Tiso launches at her and she catches his face with her hand, pushing his flailing form backwards with ease. Ghost cackles as best they can, chirping and clicking as their shoulders shake. Flame shrieks with laughter for a moment, the sound coming out like stone dragging against a gravel floor, before he's back to gnawing on the ring. "See?" she says towards Quirrel, sending a wink in his direction. "No manners at all."

The pillbug covers his mouth, no matter the fact that he's wearing a mask and doesn't need to hide he's laughing, and hiccups on his breathing. Tiso is swearing colorfully now, his hands flailing through the air as he does his level best to strangle his sister. Quirrel doesn't understand the language, but it sounds smooth and silky, completely opposite of how he normally sounds.

Ghost seems rather displeased at hearing that language, though Quirrel can't be positive that they are displeased. They're shaking their head back and forth slightly, their hands wringing slightly to the point that Flame has dropped the ring to chew on their hands. Ghost pulls him off but the little one is screeching furiously in a tongue that hurts to listen to.

Quirrel cringes back a little, only barely hearing the sound of footsteps behind him. "What is that terrible sound?" someone asks, and he glances up to see another warrior striding towards them. Dressed in pale armor that covers from head to toe, and no visible antennae or chitin. Xena perks up immediately, her expression lighting up with joy.

"Ecru!" she calls, reaching her free hand out to grab onto the stranger's own. Xena easily drags the newcomer down beside her, leaning over to nuzzle her face against the helmet. "Take that off, they're with me."

"If you say so, Xena," Ecru says, and pulls off the helmet. Quirrel peers curiously at them, taking a long minute to sort through his memory. He knows who this is.

The current champion of the Coliseum of Fools. The Pale Lurker, known for her skill in sharp blades, trapped spikes, and quick, vicious kills. Who apparently is dating Tiso's sister.

Why is everyone around him so absolutely terrifying again? Quirrel is a _scholar_. He spends most of his time in the Archives, only occasionally leaving to take out the Ooma whenever they come too close to the building. And yet here he is, at the Coliseum of Fools in the very top of Kingdom's Edge, surrounded on all sides by three warriors and a God.

(An actual god, that holds several spheres of influence.)

No wonder Monomon laughed at him when he asked if there was anything he should be worried about. If he manages to get killed somehow, his teacher is never going to let him live it down.

Ghost wriggles closer to him, carefully wrangling Flame in their arms, and Quirrel glances at them. They seem oddly distressed for some reason, though he can't name why. They're a God, he thinks, and then remembers they seem to have far more trauma than he ever expected a God to have. He reaches a hand over and wraps around their shoulder, tucking their mask against his chest. Their horns are ridiculously long, thumping against the underside of his mask until he tucks his chin between them, and Quirrel lets them settle in.

(He pretends he doesn't see the tears of void on their mask, and the way they don't quite look at Xena and Ecru. He doesn't want to know.)


	61. Ghost

There are ghosts within Kingdom's Edge.

(Many, many, _many_ ghosts. Their forms layer over the reality, and all Ghost can see is the injuries they died with. Quirrel has water dripping down his chin, Tiso a hole in his chest, God Tamer soaked in void her shell shattered from the force, Pale Lurker beheaded after they attempted to get her key.)

(The images are not real. Ghost does not have their sire's foresight, only his telepathy. This is their own mind being cruel to them, playing tricks that they do not want or need.)

Quirrel has his arms wrapped around their shoulder, their face tucked up against his throat. They could unhinge their jaw so easily, tear into the soft flesh and chitin there. He'd be helpless against them, would bleed out within moments. But they don't. They press their face in closer, sniffle miserably, and try to not remember God Tamer's corpse on the floor of the arena.

(She's sitting in front of them, her hand in her girlfriend's, and laughing brightly at something her brother has said.)

The pillbug is rubbing their side gently, his hand positioned just out of sight so that the other three don't see. Flame is pressed against their chest, purring like he's going to burst into fire. The teething ring clatters against his teeth as he gnaws, small chirps spilling out of his mouth as his chest rumbles.They gently pet him, feeling the panic in their chest slowly ebb away with each run of their hands against his shell, feeling the fine indents and ridges of his chitin. "Are you all right?" Quirrel asks, soft and quiet against the side of their mask. He's clearly trying to keep quiet for them, and they can very much appreciate that.

Their hands are caught between them, one claimed in Quirrel's hands and the other on Flame's back, and they wince slightly and nod just a little. _Yes_ , they whisper, feeling the way he winces at the sound of their voice in his mind. They tuck their face in a little closer and sigh softly, feeling the air exhale quickly out of their lungs.

"Do you want to go see Monomon?" He asks the question slowly and they tilt their face upwards towards him, thinking it over.

(They killed her, in the end. They'd killed Monomon and Lurien, before they'd spotted their sister collapsed at the third Dreamer's bed, sobbing softly. Her mother, leaving her behind, and they couldn't bring themself to stab her, too. They'd searched for a different path after that, eventually stumbling onto Godseeker. In the end, they killed her, too.)

But now they can see her alive, instead of just hanging there limp in a tank. Can be properly taught how to use their voice to speak. Quirrel doesn't have to lose her again, nor does anyone else have to lose someone they love. They're shaking, but something like determination swells within their chest. They can't sit here forever and feel sorry for themself, not now that they have bugs around them laughing so happily. They'd never forgive themself if they did.

Remembering that Quirrel, and Tiso though he's much less so, don't particularly care to have their voice in his mind, Ghost carefully finagles their hands from where they are pinned against their chest, and ignores the way they shake. " _We think we would like to meet Monomon._ "

They're close enough they can see the way he swallows, then laughs nervously. "Right. You meeting Monomon. That's going to go wonderfully."

Ghost tilts their head to the side. " _Why would it not go wonderfully?_ " they ask, slowly, curiously.

Quirrel laughs again, this time rougher. "Oh, Gods, where do I even begin. I love her dearly, she's the mother I never had, but if I don't keep an eye on her, she tries to drink slime just to, and I quote, 'see what it does'."

_Oh no_ , Ghost thinks, and their shoulders are shaking from their hastily suppressed laughter. Monomon sounds amazing. They think they're going to get along with her terrifyingly well.

"Oh, yes," he sighs out. "You're going to be absolute disasters together, and the only way I can moderate this is by doing the introductions myself."

They giggle at him, not even bothering to hide it this time, and throw their head back in silent laughter. Their shoulders are shaking, and Flame looks up at them, spitting out his teething ring so he can join in. Tiso glances up at the sound, peering at them from where he's pinned under his sister, and snorts. "Would you two _please_ help me?" he calls across the distance, struggling to get her off of his back. "I'm a bit pinned."

Xena _cackles_ , there is no other word to describe the sound that escapes her. "Oh, yea, sure, beg your boy toys for help." She smushes Tiso's face into the flooring, ignoring the screech that comes from him.

"I'm going to stab you!" he yells, voice muffled completely, and Ghost gets to their feet.

(Somewhere during their talk, they'd ended up entirely on Quirrel's lap. They don't know how to feel about it.)

They stride over to Tiso's side and tilt their head, blinking curiously down at the scuffling duo. Ecru is lazing off to the side, idly sharpening her weapons with ruthless precision. Xena glances up at them and chokes, her eyes quickly looking them up and down. "Holy shit," she breathes, "you are _huge_." They lean down a little and wrap one of their hands around the back of her armor, hauling her upwards cautiously. She yelps when her feet leave the ground, dangling from their grasp, and Tiso scrambles out from underneath, immediately making a hasty retreat so he can brush the dirt off of his chitin.

"Bitch," he tells her. Xena bares her teeth at him, mandibles snapping dangerously. Ghost shakes her like they would Flame when he's being particularity unruly, ignoring the yelp that escapes.

She reaches up to grab at their hands, pinching some part between their chitin and flesh that makes them yelp and drop her. Tiso screeches when she lands and ducks behind Quirrel, who now has the stance of someone resigned to their fate. Ghost moves to step in front of them and calls upon their nail, settling it into the dirt of the floor with a heavy breath of air.

"All right, fucker," Xena says, carefully taking a step back. "You win this time, but don't think I won't beat your ass the next time I see you." She turns and saunters back into the Coliseum. Ecru presses her helmet back into place and follows silently after. For a long moment, there is nothing but the sound of their own breathing. 

"So. Monomon?" Quirrel eventually asks, and Tiso pushes him over.


	62. Ghost

There are ghosts within Kingdom's Edge.

They're slowly moving away from the Coliseum, but they're still there.

"You're so slow!" Tiso calls as he bounds across a small pit. Ghost rolls their eyes as they follow him across, their long legs making crossing the distance incredibly easy. Flame sits upon their shoulder, his tiny legs digging into their cloak as he chews busily on the teething ring, occasionally pausing to sneeze out fire. Quirrel leaps across himself, chuckling softly at their brother's antics.

"Perhaps you are just too fast, Warrior," he says lazily, adjusting the nail on his back. He blurs forward, leaping from spot to spot until he's halfway up a wall and then onto the next platform. Tiso growls at him and then lunges forwards, a large pair of translucent wings unfolding from his back. Ghost tilts their head to the side, examining his flight upwards and comparing it to their own.

It's much smoother, for one. He flies like someone who has done it all their life, a level of grace that they have yet to acquire. His wings buzz rhythmically, the soothing flap far more even than their own frantic attempts.

Tiso can fly better than they can. Quirrel can't even fly, yet doesn't need it to reach spots far above his head. Ghost is being outclassed. They're going to have to fix this.

Ghost splays their own wings, the glittering orange and white lace draped across black membrane, all layered over the glowing white of the monarch wings. They buzz their own wings carefully, think back to all of the lessons that Apis forced upon them, and launch themself off of the ground. Its nowhere near as nice as Tiso's flight, and especially not as nice as Apis', but they actually manage to get high enough to land on the ledge.

"Huh," Tiso says, peering at them curiously. "I didn't know you could fly."

" _We attempt to,_ " Ghost signs to him, reaching up in an attempt to ward of Flame's imminent cackling. Their brother is far too busy chewing to laugh at them though, and only offers them a single sentence before going back to his ring.

"Shouwd have sheen shibwing firshth thime," he says cheerfully, and Ghost barely ignores the urge to cuff him. They don't need reminders of those disasters, thank you.

**_Rude_ ,** they send to him through the void, and he snickers as he chews on his toy. It takes a heartbeat to refreeze it and their brother chirps in pleasure and yawns widely, revealing what exactly has been bothering him about his teeth. He's growing an entire second set, much like a wyrm has, much like they have themself. _Ah_ , they think, and gently make the ring even colder. They don't remember growing in their own teeth, much of their time in the Abyss lost to the unforgiving Wastes, but they know that it can't be particularly pleasant.

Quirrel hums lazily. "I suppose that you weren't exactly the best your first time either, Tiso."

"Excuse you, I was a fucking delight," Tiso snaps, and then immediately huffs a breath when Quirrel gives him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, all right, that's fair. I fell off a cliff and broke my arm and leg."

A giggle escapes them and they cover their mask, tilting their face away so they can laugh. Tiso squawks at them, then turns away and leaps up onto another ledge, his wings fanning open again as he buzzes across the room. "You're slow!" he yells back.

"You're going the wrong way!" Quirrel calls back at him, and Ghost watches with glee as Tiso freezes midair and almost crashes attempting to turn around. "The entrance out of Kingdom's Edge is this direction." He points to their left, and Tiso curses as he peels himself off of the wall.

"I'm going to get you back for this," he hisses, landing beside them with a heavy thud. Quirrel just laughs at him, striding past with grace and elegance, and Ghost watches as the Pillbug vanishes through the hole. His form fades into the shadows with ease, the way the darkness seems to swallow him up. The crystals can't light this area up, their glow barely reaches the tunnel, splashing across the back of Quirrel's shell.

" _Get him back, how?_ " they ask Tiso, and watch as he splutters wildly. " _Don't know, do you?_ "

"You be quiet," Tiso tells them, stalking forward to catch up with Quirrel. They spot the way his shoulders are shaking with silent mirth, and pad easily after, their claws hooking neatly into the grooves of the floor and propelling them forward. They easily pass by him, by Quirrel too, and Flame cackles from their shoulder as they reach the elevator.

There, though, they pause and peer up into the darkness of the shaft. Above them rests the Resting Grounds, where they're positive Seer still resides. They could go and visit her, go see what remains of the Moth Tribe, or they could go through the City of Tears towards the Fungal Wastes.

Quirrel catches up to them and comes to a halt at their side, blinking out at the elevator that is far below them. There's a lever to their side and he puts his weight onto it, grunting as it pushes to one side. Below them, there's the grinding of metal against metal, a heavy thunk, and then Ghost can see the elevator rising towards them. It halts in front of them with a heavy clunk, reminding them uncannily of what little they recall of the Abyss door slamming shut. It feels like they've just made a decision that they can't walk away from.

They're returning to the Resting Grounds, yet they don't feel like they're the same bug they were when they first came. It's not just that they're taller, it's that they're far more than what they once were. An ascended god, wrapped up in the void of their own slaughter.

Ghost reaches up and hits the switch that sends the elevator upwards once Tiso has stumbled in, barely twitching as the doors slam shut and the contraption rumbles to life. Quirrel glances at them. "I thought we were heading towards the Archives."

" _Side trip,_ " they sign. They don't know how well this trip will go, but some part of them whispers that this is right. They are the God of the Dream Realm now.

It's only fair that they greet what's theirs, after all.


	63. Ghost

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

There are three of them, but only one is named that way.

The elevator is rumbling beneath their feet, the shaking sway of the metal as it rises higher into the darkness. They peer up at the ceiling and pet Flame nervously, ignoring the way their lower set of arms are shaking beneath their cloak. Quickly they fold them across their belly, forcing the limbs to hold still. Seer is above them, that much they know, but they fear her response to learning of her Goddesses' death.

Tiso lets out a sharp noise when the elevator shudders to a halt, cursing under his breath. "I hate these damn things so much," he mutters. "I'd much rather get somewhere under my own power, thank you very much." Ghost supposes they can understand that sentiment, especially given the way they're uncertain if the elevator is even still in piece. 

"You said the same thing about the Stag Stations," Quirrel comments lazily, but even he warily steps off of the elevator.

"Given the choice, I'd take the elevator," the ant returns dryly. Ghost reaches out with their two lower arms, forcefully picking him up and setting him aside. They step out of the elevator now that he's no longer in their way, carefully ignoring the way Tiso is now screeching indignantly at them. "Rude!" he yowls, and they grab his hood, dragging it down over his face. Quirrel snorts as he walks past and to the left, idly reaching for his nail as shuffling sounds grow momentarily closer.

" _Entombed Husk, maybe?_ " Ghost signs slowly, tilting their head so they can peer into the darkness. They vaguely remember there being a few of those creatures in the tunnels to their right, but they honestly have no desire to go crawling and find out.

Quirrel hums softly. "Assuming that there are still Infected." Ghost doubts that, given that they have consumed the Light. But they're not exactly keen to find out, either.

Instead they point towards the left entrance, to where they know the path leads towards the Blue Lake, and up into the main body of the Resting Grounds. " _That way,_ " they decide, " _the other route is a dead end._ " They're not questioned, but Tiso grumbles a little about having to cross back through the elevator to get to their side.

"Not gonna ask how you know that," the ant mutters. "Gonna just go ahead and assume that it's more of the future bullshit you got going on."

True, but Ghost doesn't particularly want to talk about it. They choose to shrug instead and leap up onto the ledge leading up to the next floor, their wings fanning open slightly to make the jump easier. Flame lifts off of their shoulder, his wings flapping hard, but the teething ring is still locked between his jaws. It's soaked in spit, and knowing Grimm's line it's probably flammable saliva, and Ghost considers grabbing their brother and bundling him back into their arms. They'd rather not be bitten, though, and clearly he desires the chance to stretch his wings for a while. 

Ghost ducks out from underneath the platform above them, blinking slowly at the area. There's something different about it, but they can't seem to pin what's off about it. Quirrel glances at the platform, blank and empty, and then at them. "Is something wrong, Ghost?"

They don't know. " _We remember something else being here. A. . . grave, we think._ " Oh, they think. Right. Xero's grave had been here. But he's no longer dead. No longer a traitor, driven to his grave by the Blinding Light. They're going to eventually run into him, that much they can be certain of.

Tiso tilts his head to the side, idly fixing the last of his hood. "If you ask me, the time you came from sounds pretty fucking morbid. I think I like what I've got now, thanks." Considering that he only knows snippets and the horrible memories they've shown him, he's not exactly wrong.

Quirrel huffs a breath and glances around. "So where do we go? I'm assuming not to the left, given that there's something moving in that direction, too. I'm fairly certain I can smell water, though. " He can, given that Ghost knows the Blue Lake resides there.

" _To the right,_ " Ghost signs. They can feel her, faintly, in the back of their mind. A low buzz, the understanding that she is theirs to look after, to take care of. " _There is someone we must meet there. We just hope it goes well._ "

"And then we can go see Monomon?" Quirrel asks, sounding both amused and worried. They'd question it, but given that they're nervous just going to meet Seer says enough.

" _Of course,_ " Ghost agrees. They glance around and take a step to the right, heading towards where Seer rests. " _This way. It's a bit of a climb so we hope you are ready._ " 

"Oh, fantastic," Tiso mutters. "I love climbing. Give me more climbing, all the climbing in the world. Why can't I just fly? Oh, because there's _no space to do so_. What a lovely place. I hate it already." He stalks forward, stomping forward and into the darkness of the next room. Ghost can hear him cursing softly under his breath the entire way.

Then it goes silent, the sound of his voice cutting off into nothing. Ghost strains to hear. A breath, a heartbeat, and then the ant shrieks and leaps backwards, almost falling over his own feet in an attempt to get away. Ghost jerks, their hand moving towards a nail that they have long since dismissed into shimmers of soul, and Quirrel yanks out his own.

A shape steps out of the darkness, the gleam of a glowing, gold nail so well known to them in each hand. Ghost should know them. They're so familiar in a way they cannot name. Horns like a crescent moon, color splashing across their cloak until its shaded a deep red with occasional darker spots. A shield glowing like a sun, revolving lazily around in a circle around them.

Markoth.


	64. Ghost

There is a ghost of a moth within the Resting Grounds.

This moth stands tall, a nail in both hands and his shield circling lazily.

Ghost carefully shifts their stance, moves their hand from where they would summon their nail, and relaxes. Quirrel glances at them for a moment, but then draws back a step, sheathing his weapon. "If you think this is right," he whispers, soft enough that even they can barely hear the words.

They breathe in slowly and move forward, ignoring the way Markoth stiffens, and reach down to drag Tiso to his feet. The ant is cursing softly under his breath, hand twisted slightly within the strap on the back. He slides the shield off with a grimace as they pull him away, pressing it onto his back, and examines the way his wrist has been broken from the fall. "Fuck me," he mutters, and Ghost catches Markoth visibly grimacing to their left. Its not on his face, what with the painted armor hiding it among the ruff of fluff around his throat, but they can see the way his shoulders bow and twitch, the way his wings visibly shift across the floor.

" _Greetings to you,_ " they sign slowly, watching as his glowing eyes focus upon their hands." _We came to seek someone._ "

Markoth's wings twitch again. "I am aware of that," he tells them blithely, "but I will not have ones such as yourself intruding within lands that are not your own." He brings one of the two golden nails upwards, sliding into a stance meant to stab, and Ghost brings their hands upwards.

" _We have no interest in fighting you._ "

"I don't care."

Tiso snorts from where he's off on the side, cradling his wrist. Quirrel is hovering near him, bandages in hand as he attempts to support the broken chitin. "You sound like an asshole."

The moth's gaze flickers for a split second. "I _am_ an asshole." The tip of his nail shifts just slightly higher, his shield rotates just slightly, and then he lunges forward. He's fast, annoyingly so, and clearly is capable of using his wings to propel himself across great distances at great speeds. They really don't like that, not when it leaves them scrambling to defend themself against his aggressive nails.

They remember fighting his dream form, with his floating nails and circling shields. Climbing the final Pantheon was worse, with his tiny platforms and lack of floor. Somehow this is even worse than that, if only because they're far too large to actually dodge him. There's not enough room, not enough space for them to Shriek, and they haven't been able to focus enough to call upon their own nail.

"You should be fighting back," Markoth snarls, his legs shifting to dash forward towards them. They slide to the right, barely getting out of the way of the swipe of his nail, and duck down in an attempt to kick his feet out from underneath him. No fool, Markoth leaps backwards and swipes at them again, his blade coming within a hands width of their mask.

" _We really would rather not to fight,_ " they sign, and are forced to summon their blade when he lunges at them, nail aimed point-first at their face. It crashes against the flat of the metal, the sound ringing loudly in the low-roofed hall. Their arms strain against Markoth's own power and they're forced to bring out their second set in an attempt to brace themself. _Halt!_ they hiss, feeling the way their mental voice bounces around the room. Both Tiso and Quirrel wince, and Markoth skids to a halt, dropping his nails in an attempt to clutch at his head.

"Ghost!" Quirrel yelps at them, and they duck their head guiltily. They didn't mean to yell that in everyone's minds, instead they'd attempted to project it out loud. Clearly it hadn't worked.

They thunk their nail down into the ground below them and sheepishly rub their hands together. " _Sorry. Not good at telepathy,_ " they sign, their fingers folding into the shapes with ease. Tiso snorts at them, his eyes flickering between them and Markoth, who is still clutching at his head.

"You did a number on them, huh," he muses idly, then gets up and kicks the moth in the shin. He ignores Markoth's yelp of pain, snapping, "That's for knocking me on my ass, asshole," at his face and turning to stalk over to where Ghost is standing. "You gotta stop mixing those up. Not everyone is going to be as kind about it as Quirrel and I am."

" _We're trying,_ " Ghost huffs. And they are. It's just not clicking for them, not the way they want it to. They honestly want to stomp their foot in frustration, but that is a Hornet thing to do. They instead settle for shrieking their rage into the void, feeling the sea boil up with all of their emotions. It takes a moment, as they pour it out into the ocean, but Ghost eventually breathes in slowly and feels their heart settle. They take a step forward and reach out a hand, dragging Markoth back to his feet. He groans and picks up his nails, sheathing them neatly at his side and grabbing his shield out of the air.

"You have terrible form, but hit as hard as some of the Mantis Tribe do." Ghost winces slightly but nods. They've long since been aware of their terrible form, but it's not like they're very good at learning how to fight in this form. It's mostly been flailing around and tanking damage that their much larger size can take. There's no technique, no form, and certainly no skill. That one Mantis they'd almost killed back in the Fungal Wastes was more than enough proof. Markoth peers at them slowly, his wings flicking at the edges. "I'd teach you, or even offer someone else, but I do not fight like that," he sighs out, shrugging. 

Markoth turns and strides through the doorway, glancing back to make sure that they're following. "Come. I was told to come fetch you. Why, I do not know."

Ghost is pretty sure they know who told him to fetch them. They're not sure if they like this. They want to run. They don't.


	65. Ghost

There is a Ghost within the Resting Grounds.

They're staring up at the climb ahead of them, now suddenly feeling rather apprehensive.

That is a very long climb. Especially since they're now three, probably four times their original height. "Are you having second thoughts, Pale One?" Markoth asks as he sweeps by them, his cape sweeping open to reveal that it's actually brilliant red wings instead of fabric. He touches off the ground, wings gracefully flapping as he hovers above them.

Ghost is pretty sure they hate him. Judging by the expression on Tiso's face, hidden mostly by the cover of his hood, he agrees.

"Well, I can just fly up," the ant snaps, his wings buzzing to life as he vaults upwards. Markoth gracefully shifts out of the way as Tiso barrels by, and Quirrel leans down slightly. Ghost glances over at him, blinking when they realize he's gone. Their eyes flicker upwards, following the pillbug's form as he flickers in and out of sight, dashing from ledge to ledge. Markoth's gaze turns to them now that they're the only one on the ground and he tosses his head upwards, almost as if he's mocking their lack of movement.

Well then. They'd hate to disappoint him, wouldn't they. Ghost grinds their mandibles together beneath their mask, feeling their tail whip to the side beneath their cloak. Their wings spread out, the glittering gold lacing the black membrane reflecting off of all the dream essence floating in the air, and launch themself upwards with a sharp downward flap of their wings. Ghost isn't particularly in the mood to fly all the way up, plus they're far too inexperienced to really maneuver in such a small space. More likely than not, they're just going to slap their wings into something and come crashing down. Better to just leap from platform to platform, using the boost from their wings to reach higher than they could without.

Markoth keeps pace with them easily, flying so gracefully in a way that makes them envious. Ghost would love to have that level of skill. That level of grace and ease, but they don't. Yet. They're sure that they'll get there eventually, as that's really only one way they can go. They'll get better. They are a god, and they refuse to be outdone.

"Here," the moth says, sweeping his wings upwards in a movement that barely misses the ledge, and he lands on the ground without so much as a puff of dust. Tiso settles down beside him, looking like he's seriously considering kicking Markoth off of the ledge. Quirrel shows up a moment later, only a heartbeat behind, soul drifting off the bottoms of his feet as his claws catch onto the rocks at the edge. Ghost beats their wings one more time, letting them fold beneath the lines of their cloak. Flame curls on their shoulder, then crawls down and beneath the voided fabric, forcing them to cross their arms beneath their cloak so that he can lay across their arms.

They know that Seer is waiting for them, and Ghost breathes in slowly, then lifts an arm out to push open the curtains and step inside. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light within her home and they carefully step inside, hearing the way their footsteps echo in the room. "Oh?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "Thistlewind? Is that you?"

Ghost is most definitely not Thistlewind, whoever they are, and they're not sure how to get that across to her. Markoth, who has ducked in behind them, sighs heavily. "Mother, Thistlewind hasn't visited in weeks."

Seer turns around fully now, and they watch as her eyes widen. "Oh," she whispers, and then bows all the way to the ground. pressing her face against the floor. "I greet you, newly ascended God of Dreams." Her voice is barely more than a breath of wind, and Ghost practically has to strain to hear her. Behind them, Markoth makes a choking noise and they can hear his wings bristling wide enough to hit the walls.

" _We greet you, Seer,_ " they sign, carefully picking their way across the room to sit in front of her. Their long legs are interesting to fold, and it takes a moment to settle in a way that doesn't dislodge Flame from their arms, but they manage. Tiso pokes his head in behind them, dropping to lazily sprawl out across the floor, grunting when Quirrel slaps his side but sits beside him. " _It's been a long time since we last saw a living moth._ " Truth, even if they're stretching it slightly.

That gets her eyes to narrow, even as she's patting out a spot for Markoth to sit. "Don't tell me you fought them, Markoth," she scolds, carefully getting to her feet. They watch as she vanishes into another room, the curtain on that one falling shut behind her.

"Mother," Markoth whines, yes, _whines_ , and attempts to bury his head into his hands, stopping only when his helmet cracks against his palms. Ghost peers at him, slowly trying to match this Markoth with the awful Pantheon fight they remember. It doesn't really line up, but occasionally they can catch glimpses of the powerful warrior he was before his death. It's interesting and makes them more than a little curious.

The curtains move aside again and Seer steps out into the room, a teapot cradled within her hands. "I hope you like tea," she says, setting it down onto the table. Already Ghost can smell it, something spicy and sharp, and they wrinkle their mandibles beneath their mask. Beside them, both Quirrel and Tiso sit up, clearly interested. Several cups are spread out and she carefully fills them, settling the teapot in the middle of the table.

Ghost reaches out and picks up the cup, delicately cradling it within their upper set of hands. It's warm against their chitin, the heat seeping into the plates, and they duck their head, unhinging their lower jaw until they can dip their tongue into the liquid.

It's _definitely_ spicy. In a way that the Deepnest teas Hornet had given them weren't. They pull back a little and consider it, trying to figure out what they're tasting. Something sharp and clear, like a burn in the back of their mouth. Flame wriggles out of their cloak, still chewing on his teething ring, and Ghost dips the cup so he can sniff at it.

He immediately sneezes, flames licking out along the edges of their hands, and they withdraw the cup so they can sip at the tea. Markoth is still sitting there awkwardly, not moving. Seer is nudging him with her elbow, occasionally hissing something in a language that Ghost both does and doesn't understand. They tilt their head to the side, feeling the way the words are crawling along their chitin, and shudder. 

She peers at them over the edge of her cup, then elbows her. . . son, apparently, hard enough that he grunts and reaches up, pulling off his helmet. He looks similar to her, though his coloring is far more red. He picks up his tea and sips at it, glaring mulishly at them. "Now," Seer says, soft and gentle, "you have ascended to Her place, haven't you."

" _We ate her, yes._ " Ghost shrugs as best they can. They peer down into their cup, eying the swirled decals along the bottom. " _It was not pleasant._ "

"We can imagine that," Seer agrees, mild as the gentlest foods Hornet ever prepared. Ghost tries not to squirm in front of her. They barely manage. "And now you have come to us. Her creations."

Ah. Yes. Ghost is pretty sure she's mad at them, but they've never been really good at reading emotions. This may be a problem.


	66. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sick. whatever chapter length this is, you get. brain hurty

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

There is a ghost of a memory within the Resting Grounds.

This ghost is nervous, sitting there with their legs crossed, their youngest sibling draped across their lap, and a cup of spicy tea in their hands. They take comfort from its warmth, sipping it slowly as they try to figure out the best way to explain what is going through their mind. Ghost tilts their head back slightly in an attempt to get the last drops from the cup. They're not entirely sure when they ran out, just that the people around them are quietly conversing while they think.

Ghost heaves a sigh and sets their teacup onto the table, reaching out for the teapot to refill their cup. " _We were so angry,_ " they eventually decide, watching as everyone around them snaps to attention, peering at their hands. " _We did not mean to consume Her, just that She was harming what was Ours, and that We had to put a halt to it. That we ascended in Her place and became the Lord of Shades was just a bonus._ "

Seer slumps a little in her seat, her antennae drooping. "I cannot deny that She has done great wrong. We chose to follow the Pale Wyrm, the White King, the Great Wyrm of the Endless Wastes. He came to us to speak, to learn, to understand, and in the end we chose to follow him. We turned our back on the Blinding Light, and She punished us for it. Now there are only three remaining. Myself, my son, and one I consider a child, even though they are not mine."

" _Four,_ " Ghost corrects, because they know this one well.

"Four?" she whispers, confusion and hope coloring her voice.

" _There is a caterpillar of moth breed within the Queen's Gardens. We have seen her only once but it was more than enough to make note that she was not a butterfly._ " Ghost leans back and hums lazily, idly sipping from their tea. " _She should still be there, if you are quick enough."_

Markoth gets to his feet before his mother can say anything, snatching up his helmet and barreling from the room in a blur of red. They can hear him shouting something in the distance, his words slurring unintelligibly as he gets farther away. Seer's hands are shaking as she sets down her tea, and they can hear her whispering, "A hatchling, oh Gods, a hatchling," under her breath. They glance at the door again, tilting their head to the side, tail twitching where it is laid across their knees. The void inside of them is whispering, the Dream Realm pulsing within their mind, and they are just faintly aware of Markoth as he quickly flies through the air. He's above the Blue Lake, and there is another moth with him. This must be Thistlewind, Ghost muses, and pushes their mind away.

" _We assume they went to fetch her, didn't they._ "

Seer peers at them for a moment. "Yes, they did," she says slowly. "You are oddly aware of things for someone who has only recently ascended."

Ghost doesn't have the heart to tell her that this was their second ascension. That this is the second time they climbed to the top of the Pantheon and consumed Her dreams. They instead duck their head and sip at their tea, feeling Flame as he crawls out of their lap and climbs up onto the table. Their brother makes a direct line for the plate of snacks on the table, dropping his slime-covered teething ring in favor of stuffing his face.

They reach over and take it, idly running enough soul through to briefly burn it clean. Wisps of frost decorate its surface and Ghost pulls it into their cloak, storing the teething ring within their void for whenever Flame is willing to take it back. Teething, along with producing a void-like venom can't be very pleasant for him. Best to let him stuff his face while he deems himself capable of doing so.

Besides, the snacks that Seer has set out are particularly nice. Sweet with a sort of jammy center. They really like the ones that are savory, a sort of sour note to go along with the crunchy shell. Ghost hums in pleasure as they bite into another one, pausing to take a sip of their tea. Seer is busy talking with both Tiso and Quirrel, a book of history spread out in front of them. They're conversing in that strange language that makes Ghost's head hurt, the one that is apparently called Dreamtongue. The original tongue of the Moth Tribe, though it had long since been forgotten in favor of the easier Hollowtongue. Though there are still words of Dreamtongue within Hollowtongue, the original language itself has mostly died out.

A shame, really. Especially since they're supposed to be the new God. They don't know very much of Dreamtongue. Perhaps they can ask Tiso to teach them, given that he appears to be fluent in it. Quirrel is also displaying a rather terrifying ability to pick up on languages. He's gone from only knowing a few words to being able to speak in full sentences within an hour or so. Ghost isn't sure if they're jealous or just more smitten than ever.

(Gods, but every time they think he can't impress them any further, he goes and proves them wrong. This is why they loved him so much they couldn't breathe. Why they grieved and grieved and grieved when he was gone, how they fell through time for him.)

Seer perks up at the edge of their vision, her eyes glittering with excitement. Ghost glances towards the doorway, stretching out their senses. Nothing, there is no one near, no one close to the Resting Grounds. Yet the old moth looks like she's on the verge of tears, her hand coming up to press against her mouth. "My son has reached the haltchling," she says softly, and Ghost finds themself blinking in surprise. It couldn't have been more than two hours since Markoth left, his wings buzzing as he blurred out of sight. He must of headed straight towards the Stag Station within the Crossroads.

"Another moth has been found," Seer says, and her smile is wide enough to blind the room.


	67. Interlude: Markoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because im sick and dont want to write ghost

There is a moth in Queen's Gardens.

There is a mothling within the Queen's Gardens and a moth heading there.

Markoth isn't sure if he should believe the God, but there's a part of him that feels like he owes them. Even just a little, especially after the disaster that was him attacking the new God of Dreams. But their breed is gone as it is, only himself, his mother, and Thistlewind remain, and if there really _is_ a tiny mothling within the confines of Queen's Gardens, then it's only right that he goes and checks. His mother has grieved and grieved and grieved over the loss of all the other moths. If he can make her feel better with the knowledge that there really is a mothling, then he's going to do it, even if it's an annoyingly long trip.

He drops down from his mother's place, hitting the ground running, and barrels through the rest of the graveyard, almost crashing into a pale green moth with gleaming wings. "Thistlewind!" Markoth yelps, frantically attempting to untangle himself from his childhood friend. "Where in the Light's name have you been?"

Thistlewind immediately looks away guiltily, closing their eyes and ducking their face into the ruff around their throat. Their leaf-like antennae fold back in what Markoth can only describe as shame. "Around," they mumble.

Well, that certainly hasn't changed about them. Still attempting to avoid conflict in any way they can. "Well, you're coming with me. There's a mothling in Queen's Gardens and mother wants me to pick her up."

That takes the wind out of their lungs and Markoth can hear the wheeze of surprise. "A mothling?"

"In Queen's Gardens, yes. Do try to keep up, Thistlewind," he snaps, far more sore about his supposed best friend avoiding him for years than he actually thought he was. Markoth shoves the other off of him and scrambles to his feet, brushing off his wings. They flare open, the brilliant red eyespots almost glowing with soul, and he takes off towards Blue Lake. Behind him he can hear the other moth cursing, then the sound of Thistlewind's trademark vibrating flight echoes around the small room.

_Good,_ Markoth thinks a little bitterly. Nice to see that Thistlewind cares more about the idea of a mothling than their old friendship with him. Was he aware that Thistlewind disliked the Burning Light? Yes. Did he care? No. Does it hurt that someone he used to tell all of his secrets to turned their back on him? Yes. Can he put up with Thistlewind if it means having two moths present when they find the little mothling? Also yes, even if it makes his hemolymph boil with old hurt. 

Blue Lake is empty, of course, because Markoth has no idea why anyone would be there, but the vengeflies above the surface of the water do their level best to slam into them. Markoth twists in a sharp circle, snatching his nail and neatly cutting one of the vengeflies in half. The other screeches in fury but darts away, moving upwards and out of their path. Markoth smirks at it and shakes the viscera off of his nail, idly tucking it back into place.

Admittedly, flying the entire way to Queen's Garden's probably isn't the best method. There's got to be a Stag Station nearby that doesn't involve making a u-turn and flying all the way back into Resting Grounds. "Thistlewind!" he calls over the air rushing through his helmet.

Thistlewind glances up, soul glittering around their eyes. "Yes?"

"Where's the nearest Stag Station aside from Resting Grounds?"

There's a long moment of silence as they duck their face against the wind and consider his question. "Crossroads, I think. We have to keep flying through the rest stop all the way to the floating ledges and then it's two levels higher."

Markoth hums at that, ducking down to avoid a low hanging ledge of rock. He tightens his wings in closer and twists upwards, speeding through the smaller tunnel and reopening his wings over the large room below him. There's a house that's filled with giggling laughter and he sneers, pushing quickly towards where Thistlewind said the station would be.

They have to walk into the Stag Station, but Markoth folds his wings neatly with a sigh and marches over to where the bell waits. No one else appears to be at this station, an oddity given that it's in the middle of the Crossroads, but he'll take it. He's not really in the mood to socialize with anyone else currently, even Thistlewind's presence is verging on the edge of too much. Markoth draws his nail and lashes at the bell, the sound ringing loud in the emptiness of the room. He glances down the gate as a rumbling grows closer, a stag having clearly been close enough to hear the call, and tucks his nail away, folding his arms across his chest.

"Markoth," Thistlewind murmurs, and he glances over. "There's someone else coming."

"Hey! Markoth! Nice to see you've crawled out of your hole." The grating voice echoes through the area and Markoth breathes in slowly, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

"I've had a headache," he returns flatly, idly turning to see the other. "It's showed up again."

"Rude," Xero tells him with a laugh. "I'm definitely not a headache, you grouch."

"You're a cyst," Markoth snaps, turning his back as the stag thunders in and screeches to a halt. "Queen's Garden's station, please."

The stag peers at him and nods, glancing over at Xero. "And you? I can call another stag here if you wish to travel elsewhere."

Xero's smirk is all teeth, visible despite the darkness his helmet casts across his face. "No need, I'm heading there as well."

"No, you fucking aren't," the moth hisses dangerously, snatching his nail to swipe at Xero, then leaps up and onto the stag's back. "Leave this idiot behind, less I be forced to commit murder while in motion."

Thistlewind sighs heavily. "Please ignore them," they say politely. "I will keep them in check." Their wings splay open and they neatly hop onto the seating, settling in and pinning Markoth with a sour look. "I will rat you out to your mother, no hesitation."

"Willing to talk to her after avoiding her for years just to make me behave, yet can't be bothered to come visit me?" Markoth turns away and neatly tucks his wings into place. As much as he dislikes Xero, he's not actually angry at the other right now. It really would be easier to not stab him than Thistlewind.

"Rough marriage?" Xero asks as he grabs a seat in the front row. The stag rumbles and turns around in the docking area, breaking into a quick run as soon as the station is no longer within view. Darkness quickly sets in, only lit by the lantern hanging from the front of the seating and the occasional glow of the luminous crystals. Briefly Markoth considers stabbing him, but then changes his mind. Using the Stag Stations is useful, especially when he doesn't want to fly halfway across the kingdom, and he'd rather not be banned from them.

Instead he rolls his eyes and considers pushing Xero off of the stag. "You're lucky I don't want to be banned from taking the stags," Markoth instead says, and moves over two seats away from Thistlewind. "I've got better things to do than stab you."

Xero rolls his eyes. "And yet you can still run your mouth." He leans over the seat, lounging on his arm like he belongs there. "So, what are you gonna do in the gardens?"

"Other than collecting something very important? Nothing you need to be interested in," he snaps and Xero perks up in interest.

"Well then, I guess I'll tag along with you." Xero smirks at him, and Markoth hates him immensely.


	68. Interlude: Markoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still sick, still feel like shit, but im taking the chance to write during a moment where my body isnt rejecting everything i try to feed it

There is a moth within Queen's Gardens.

There are two moths within Queen's Gardens.

(There are actually _three_ moths within Queen's Gardens, but who even is counting them right now?)

Two moths, an unknown bug plated in red armor, and a brilliant green caterpillar walk into a room at the same time. It seems like a joke with a terrible opening, but Xero really does trip over the caterpillar, screeching loudly as he hits the ground with a ringing clatter. "You're an _idiot,_ " Markoth says, not a single ounce of sympathy in his voice, and stalks over to help the poor caterpillar up.

"And you're an asshole," Xero hisses as he rolls over and attempts to get back up onto his feet, "but we all can't get what we want, huh." For a moment, the moth considers kicking him, but Xero's armor would make that particularly painful. Other than the Hegemol the Mighty, Markoth honestly can't think of a single other bug who wears as much armor as Xero does. It's like the idiot doesn't want to be seen at all, though it does mean he can just take off the familiar red metal and disappear into a crowd.

Being a moth, Markoth definitely doesn't have that ability.

Instead of giving in to the urge to summon a soul nail and stab Xero in the face, he turns to peer down at the little caterpillar on the ground in front of him. "Are you well, little one?" he asks, and is entirely unprepared for the little one to leap up onto their feet, giggling uncontrollably.

"I'm good! I'm good! I'm Marmu the Warrior and I'm gonna go on a journey!" They lean in closer, their tiny mandibles spread in a toothy grin and add, "And when I get back, the Queen herself is going to teach me how to _fly,_ " in a tone that does nothing to hide their glee.

There's no way Markoth is this lucky. He practically had to fight his way to the top of the moth hierarchy as a child; no one had wanted to give the still faithful child of the Seer any favor. He still did it, though. Gritted his mandibles tight and learned how to wield both a Dreamshield and two nails. Everything he has, he had to grab onto with both hands and hang on tight.

"Is that so, little one?" he hears himself asking, and drags himself out of his thoughts. "You don't seem to have any wings for that, though."

Marmu hums slowly. "That may be true," they admit. "But I'm gonna fly without them. You'll see. I'm gonna be the best Lady Warrior you've ever seen!"

Markoth blinks slowly at her. He has no idea what her gender has to do with being a warrior, given that the Radiant Light was a female and well known for being a fearsome fighter before her death. He's startled by a hand clamping onto his shoulder fluff and he whips his head upwards, glaring darkly at Xero. "Get your hands off of me before I remove them from you _permanently_."

Xero snorts at him. "Been there, done that," he says flippantly. "Why do you think I've got gauntlets now?" That had been something Markoth didn't know, and he peers at the other's arms carefully but can't see anything. "Hey hatchling," Xero starts and cuts himself off when Marmu bears her mandibles at him.

"I'm not a hatchling!" she snaps and Markoth honestly wants to bury his face into his hands.

"You literally can't be more than a few seasons old," he mutters. "Oh Gods, my mother is going to spoil you completely."

"Oh?" Xero asks, and his eyes have sharpened even behind the helmet. "You adopting a kid, Fuzzball?" Markoth can't stop the snarl that escapes him and he whirls, calling upon his soul nails and attempting to drive them right into Xero's face. The other bug cackles as he leaps away, dodging the glittering nails with an ease that makes Markoth's mandibles twitch with fury. 

He glances down at the little one when she starts to giggle, curling her fat caterpillar body up as she laughs. "You fight like you're married," she whispers conspiratorially and Markoth feels his whole face twitch beneath his helmet.

"We are _not_ married," he returns, half-strangled, and gives in to the urge to bury his face into his hands. "I would rather stab him first."

She giggles at him again and leans in close. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

The look Markoth gives her says he doesn't believe her at all. "How about I teach you how to fly as soon as you molt your wings instead, but only if you forget the insane idea that I'm into that idiot," he says, hoping to all gods that she takes him up on his offer. She looks up at him cautiously, clearly not believing a word he says. "You are, after all, a moth. It's only reasonable that I look after those of my own kind."

Marmu seems to think about it. "Can you really teach me how to fly?" she asks, her voice quiet. "Even her majesty seemed to hesitate before she offered."

Markoth rolls his eyes. "Not yet, seeing as you have yet to pupate, but I can teach you all of the history." He leans back and hums softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "There are so few moths left, that my mother practically had a heart attack when she heard there was a mothling within the Gardens."

"Oh," Marmu says, curling up a little. "I didn't know that I'm a moth." Markoth glances down at her quickly, ignoring the way Xero splutters, "How do you not know you're a moth?!" in the background. She sniffles a little, flicking the two thin lengths attached to her tail. "I hatched alone, you see. Here. In the Gardens. I really only know the bugs living in this area."

Xero makes a sound of despair and flits in closer. "Oh, that's terrible. That does it. Fuzzball if you don't adopt her, then I will. I'm taking parental rights, dammit, and maybe if you're good you can be her other dad."

"I," Markoth begins, feeling his mandibles spread in a smile that's little more than teeth, "am going to peel your chitin off piece by piece." He gets to his feet threateningly, and feels only mildly appeased when Xero shrieks and bails out of the room.

"You like him," Marmu tells him smugly, and he buries his head into his hands with a sigh.


	69. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyy my grandmother slipped on ice and landed in the hospital w/ a broken wrist :)
> 
> can february just be over already please

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

This ghost does not know what to do.

Seer is staring at them, her gaze expectant, though for what they do not know why.

"Perhaps," she sighs out, gently folding her hands over her lap, teacup abandoned upon the table, "it would be best if we tabled this discussion for the night. At least until my son has returned." Her gaze sharpens and she hums slowly, her antennae twitching from side to side.

The worst part is, Ghost finds that they cannot disagree with her. They don't know how to describe what happened within the Pantheon, nor can they explain how they found themself hundreds upon hundreds of years within the past. As far as they're aware, the void reacted to their emotional turmoil and spat them out upon the beach of the Blackened Sea, deep within the depths of the Abyss. They have no idea how to speak of such things, much less the way the kingdom was all that time ago.

(Of all the deaths they witnessed, Seer was one of the few they didn't kill themself. It hurt in the way digging a nail into one's shell does. Deep and painful and tearing open a wound they'd long since thought closed.)

" _The sea is dark,_ " they finally decide, Flame grumbling a bit as their hands shift to form the signs. " _Black with void and the shattered remains of my sibling's lives. Lives they should have lived, were our sire not too foolish and vain to think himself invincible._ "

She peers at them for a moment before reaching out and refilling their teacup. "You have a grudge against him," she decides slowly, her voice loud in the dead quiet of the room. "Despite knowing so very little of why he did what he must."

They very nearly lunge up to their feet, and it's only Quirrel and Tiso grabbing them at keeps them down and sitting. Even still, their tail lashes at their side, the scales scratching against the floor. " _He was a fool and a murderer, and we find ourself wishing we had punched him harder,_ " they hiss, their mask cracking open to reveal thousands of teeth and eyes.

Seer doesn't so much as twitch, staring them in the face of their anger. "You did not see the way this kingdom was ravaged by her burning light. The way she so gleefully murdered people, and then taunted him with it. She would pull them to his palace, dance them on strings before his doors and then have them slaughter themselves with their own nails."

Ghost stills, swallows, and finds their mask closing on its own. They hadn't been aware of that. They knew she'd been cold and cruel, knew that she had fought back as viciously as their father had done to her, but that. . . That was needlessly cruel. Small wonder their father had done as he did with the Abyss and all of the discarded chitin. They're still angry at him, and likely will be for a long time still, nor do they have to forgive him for his senseless slaughter anytime soon. Yet at the same time, he is the king of these lands and they can believe it to be a thankless task. A king of a kingdom with an enraged Goddess doing her level best to tear it to pieces.

They hate this. Hate all of this. Given a choice they would jam their nail directly through their father's face and then laugh as he bled out. But they can't now, not with all of the new knowledge that they contain within their mind. Quirrel moves closer to their side and wraps an arm around their shoulder, drawing them close in a tight hug. Ghost drops their head, tucking their face against his shoulder as their shoulders shake. They can feel his hand rubbing against their back, the soft murmur of his voice as he whispers soothing words to them.

"So she was even more shitty than Ghost's sire," Tiso says flatly. "So fucking what. That doesn't excuse the things he did."

"I know this," Seer says softly. She seems apologetic, at the very least, which is the only reason why Ghost hasn't wrenched themself free of Quirrel's arms and stormed out yet. "But as cruel as they were, he had his reasons. Unfortunately, I cannot speak of them myself." She hums softly, an eerie tone that Ghost swears they know if they hadn't ever heard before. "You will have to demand the answers from him yourself, oh God of Dreams."

Tiso snorts. "And I'm more than willing to pin him down if you want to punch him again, Ghost."

As encouraging as that _should_ sound, Ghost finds their insides churning with an unnamed emotion. No matter their earlier words, fueled by their anger and outrage, they find they do not wish to cause more harm. They've killed so many bugs, been coated with hemolymph until their shell is slick with fluid and colored orange and green and yellow. Until the shades have mixed together in a color not unlike the Fungal Wastes after a rare heavy rain. They hate this so much, hate the way they feel.

"Sibwing can'th run," Flame dutifully reminds them, poking his head out from their cloak. He yawns widely and bares his teeth at them, snapping them together. "Give cowd ring bacw, shibwing. Fwame'sh theethh hurth."

Ghost blinks at him for a moment and feels their tail curl up along the front of their knees. **_You're being rude,_** they whisper to him, the familiar call of the void so easy to push their voice through.

He blinks innocently up at them and grins widely, all toothy and gleeful. "Fwame reawwy wanth cowd ring. Pweashe big shibwing?"

Well. They couldn't deny him even back when the kingdom was dead and all they had to collect were brilliant red flames. Now? When they know they're safe in Seer's home, with food and drink and good company, and he's peering up at them with glittering red eyes? They don't stand a chance.

(A part of them whispers that this is what it is like to be a parent. They viciously squish it.)


	70. Interlude: Markoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy sorry about the vanishing act. my grandmothers fine. shes out of the hospital w/ two fractures in her wrist, just in time for me to get buried in a snowstorm lmao
> 
> bonus: im no longer sick. thank god

There is a ghost within the Queen's Gardens.

There will be a ghost within the Queen's Gardens if Thistlewind doesn't stop snickering at him.

Two, if Markoth can manage to stab Xero a couple times.

He grinds his mandibles together, even as he kneels to gently haul Marmu up into his arms. His mother is going to be ecstatic to see her, to meet her, to look after the newest member of their family. She chirps at him in his arms and he whirls around, stalking back towards the Stag Station and ignoring the way both Thistlewind and Xero yelp and scramble after him. "Hey, Fuzzball, where are you going?"

Thistlewind huffs a breath, and Markoth doesn't have to look to know they're rolling their eyes. "You're an idiot, aren't you, Xero? Obviously we're taking the mothling back to the last remaining moth, Lady Seer."

Xero snarls, something low and vicious in the back of his throat. "Well excuse me for being concerned," he snaps. "I'm a Great Knight, not a source of knowledge."

"You would be if you could actually pick up a book," Markoth comments idly as he steps up and rings the bell. Marmu giggles from his arms, her tiny legs catching easily on his armor as she hauls herself up to peer over his shoulder at Xero's shrieking. "Maybe if you read more, you'd register that I've insulted you."

"Nah," Xero says, blithely and in a way that makes Markoth want to commit murder, "I know that you insulting is your way of flirting."

That gets an actual snort from Thistlewind, who casually steps out of the range of Markoth's blades. "If you're going to murder him for being an idiot, at least hand me the mothling first. You know how I am about getting blood on my cloak and wings." They peer down the tunnel at the approaching rumble, looking vaguely thoughtful.

Marmu raises herself up a little more, her tiny legs keeping her stuck to Markoth's armor. "I have a name you know," she snaps, sounding completely indignant. Markoth runs a hand down her back, soothing down the bristled spines, and takes the chance to roll his eyes.

"Ignore the idiots," he tells her, leaping up onto the stag with the grace of a seasoned warrior. "Resting Grounds, if you don't mind." He glances down at the two still arguing on the ground, both looking only moments away from drawing their nails and actually starting a fight. Beneath him, the stag fidgets nervously; probably uncertain, which is completely reasonable when one finds oneself in a very unwanted situation.

"Shall I leave without them and send another stag here?" the stag eventually asks, and Markoth heaves a sigh. Marmu peers up at him, a very knowing expression on her face, and shakes his head.

"That won't be necessary." He raises a hand, feels the rush of soul through him, and conjures two soul blades. They slice through the air with ease, slamming into the ground where Xero and Thistlewind had been only moments earlier. Nice to see that they still have their instincts, even when arguing like a bunch of Coliseum Fools. "If you two are done, we have a meeting to keep. Or, if you'd like, you both can explain to mother why you were left behind in the Gardens."

Thistlewind breathes in sharply and leaps onto the stag without hesitation, completely abandoning their squabble with Xero. "No thank you. Lady Seer is terrifying when she's mad, and I would rather not deal with that. I like living."

"Coward," Xero grumbles, but he begrudgingly joins them on the back of the stag.

"You have clearly not experienced Lady Seer's rage," Thistlewind mutters, and Markoth can't stop the way he shudders. His mother's wrath, while very _very_ rare, is something to be avoided at all costs. He jerks slightly against the seat as the stag takes off, their long legs eating up the ground with ease. The seat rocks slightly, but only slightly; the construction of the stagways is some of the very best. Accidents are something to be avoided, especially at high speed travel. 

Marmu squeaks at the movement and curls up tighter in Markoth's arms. He glances down at her and feels himself frown, gently tightening his grip on her. She's clearly never ridden a stag before, probably has never even actually interacted with one of the giant bugs before, and he can understand her apprehension. "We'll be there shortly," he says softly, ignoring the way Thistlewind snickers at him. "And then it's a short trip to my mother."

"And here you swore you never wanted kids," Thistlewind mutters, and Markoth restrains himself from shoving them off of the stag. Admittedly, when he had been younger, just barely no longer a mothling, he hadn't wanted kids. He's not patient, not particularly paternal, and he'd never had an interest in another bug.

(No, Xero does _not count_ , thank you. He's not attracted to that idiot, god dammit.)

But now that he's older, has survived the wrath of the Burning Light. . . Now that he has a mothling in his arms, pressed against his chest armor, he finds himself wanting to strip the armor away and let her curl up against him the same way he did with his mother all those years ago. To let her bury her face in his throat fluff and nap quietly, comfortable, and safe.

"You be quiet, Thistlewind," he instead hisses, making sure to keep his voice soft. "If it wouldn't upset the stags, I'd shove you off in a heartbeat."

"Please don't," the stag says as they skid to a halt within the Resting Ground's station. "Blood is such a pain to get out of the seats."

Reason enough, Markoth supposes, to not commit murder. Instead he hops off of their back and lands daintily on the ground, idly stretching his senses out. He can feel his mother, still waiting in her home, as well as the three others who came earlier that morn. The Warrior, the Scholar, and the God.

He just hopes that Xero and Thistlewind meeting them goes well. Scraping Xero's corpse off the wall, no matter how annoying he may be, is not something that Markoth would consider a pleasant pastime.


	71. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cranky AND sick again. thanks mom, for giving me what you had

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

(Well, if they're being exact, there are six ghosts within the Resting Grounds.)

Ghost recognizes these ghosts, even if they're no longer touched by the Realm of Death. They can feel them as they arrive within the Stag Station, the familiar sensation of Markoth, Xero, and Marmu brushing against their senses. There is a fourth person appearing, leaping down from the stag in a flurry of wings, and they know that the newcomer is also a moth. A part of them even recognizes them.

(A vague memory of a grove of spirits, guarded by a vicious dragonfly.)

They can feel the newcomers approaching quickly, can feel the slide of four new minds brushing against their own, and tucks Flame closer against their tail. He chirrs softly and blinks open red eyes, peering up at them for a moment before nuzzling his face against the fluff that coats the end. " _Four approach quickly_ _,_ " they sign, neatly tucking their brother a little further into the warmth. He yawns widely, mouth stretching wide enough to reveal all four rows of teeth. Ghost examines them for a moment and then nods; they seem to be coming in well enough.

Seer gets to her feet with a huffed laugh and turns to head towards what Ghost can only assume is the kitchen. They watch her go, her steps slow but measured and even, and tilt their head to the side. Beside them, Tiso and Quirrel talk, their words almost a buzz in the back of their mind; Ghost pays them no attention as they consider what is happening. Clearly she is getting more tea, but there would need to be several more cups. And that's not even considering that Flame has long since decimated the tray of snacks. Ghost hums slowly, the tune little more than a series of pitched notes and then gets to their feet, handing Flame over to Quirrel. Their sibling squawks in protest but settles in on Quirrel's lap, turning in a circle before shoving his face beneath a wing.

"Oh, hello, little godling," Seer says, glancing up at them as they duck through the curtains. "Do you want something?" They chose not to answer, not really having one anyway, and carefully examine the teacups she has on the counter. There is water boiling over a fire and they glance at it curiously. Hornet had always done the cooking all that time ago. Probably for the best given that Hallow had been missing an arm and relearning how to live, and Ghost was far more interested in playing with the fire than actually cooking. So their sister had done it, teaching everything to Hallow as she went.

(Ghost really only remembers a little of her teachings. They wish they had learned more from her.)

Lingering in memories is a good way for Flame to bite them. In fact, they can hear his voice buzzing through the void in the back of their mind, and they'd better remove their mind from this line of thought before he carries out that threat. Ghost carefully reaches out with all of their arms and stacks the teacups, neatly settling them within their bottom two hands. "Ah," Seer says, and reaches out, placing the new tray of snacks into their upper hands. "I see, you wished to help."

Slowly Ghost nods. They can feel the newcomers hesitating just outside of Seer's home and they didn't particularly want to be in the main room when they finally decide to enter. Instead they stand there carefully keeping the teacups balanced as they examine the snacks on the tray. More of those sticky balls of dough with sweet centers. Ghost is going to have to keep Flame away from them all, lest he stuff his face. Again.

The whistle of a kettle attracts their attention and they glance up, peering at the fire. Seer bends over the pot, pulling it off with practiced ease and dropping leaves into the opening at the top. She spots them watching, head tilted curiously to the side, and moves to show them the steaming kettle. "There's a grate inside," she tells them. "It keeps the leaves inside the pot so that we don't accidentally drink them."

That's very smart, Ghost decides, and turns their head a little to where they can hear voices out in the main area. Seer narrows her eyes slowly, bracing her shoulders as she readies herself. They watch her for a moment, as her back straightens, and she pushes the curtains aside to step through. "You certainly took your sweet time returning to your home, Thistlewind. Though I am glad you are safe from Her rage."

"Mother," Markoth says softly. "There's someone more important than Thistlewind's tendencies to ignore their family." He quiets for a moment, a shuffling sound betraying movement. "Her name is Marmu."

"Oh," Seer whispers, her voice so soft that Ghost barely catches it, and they hear the heavy thump of her setting the teapot down onto the table. "Oh, you're so small."

"I'm not small, I'm going to be the greatest warrior ever!" she exclaims, sounding incredibly indignant, and Ghost finds their shoulders shaking softly with laughter. 

"Well, then, Little One. There will be no need to stop that dream of yours." Seer laughs, and she sounds delighted. "My name is Dawngazer, for I looked to the sun for guidance when our tribes still roamed. But you may just call me Grandmother."

"Mother, _no,_ " Markoth says, sounding incredibly pained, and Ghost chooses that moment to step out of the kitchen. They move forward, carefully ducking so they can shove the curtain aside with their horns, and not get them tangled, and steps out into the room. Immediate silence falls, as quiet as the tombs the Resting Grounds are, and Ghost casually sets the tray down onto the table and carefully lays out the teacups, setting each one in front of the newcomers.

Markoth takes his with ease and grace, reaching out to take the teapot and fill his cup. The spicy scent of the tea fills the air and he pushes his helmet up to sip at it daintily. Ghost takes their place next to Tiso and Quirrel and pulls Flame back into their lap, settling their baby brother down so he can start chewing on the ring again.

"Mother, yes," Seer says, and smiles in a way that makes Ghost very aware that she once communed with Radiance in her dreams. "You are adopting her, after all. It's only reasonable that I look after my new granddaughter."

Ghost snorts and hides their laughter in their teacup.


	72. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i promised keiza but im going to have to research for him lmao

There is a ghost in the Resting Grounds.

This ghost settles quietly, their tail draped across their lap and their brother using it as a pillow. They sip carefully from their teacup, taking great caution in cracking the bottom of their mask so they can reach the liquid inside the cup without spilling any. They like this tea, never mind the fact that someone took the time to feed them.

Xero stares at them. They ignore him.

Marmu is a chatterbox, cheerfully drinking her tea and swiping snacks with all the enthusiasm a mothling can have. Despite having only been introduced to Seer only moments before, she's clearly taken a shine to having a new family. Markoth just looks resigned at this point, his grumbles having faded away as he daintily eats the snacks from the tray. Ghost would laugh, except that Flame is even younger than Marmu. He's still teething.

"So," the armored bug says, his eyes gleaming out from the curve of his helmet. "What do we have here? Seer and Markoth I know, and I know enough to recognize a member of the Teacher's Archives, but you? And the ant over there? Nothing." He hums slowly for a moment, his gaze fixed upon them. "You seem. . . familiar."

Ah. Well. Ghost glances at Quirrel, knowing their confusion has to be showing in every line of their frame. They remember something from when they fought his remains, the whispering words of a traitor who had been rightfully executed. He'd been doing what he thought was right, only to find out far too late that there had been someone pulling at the strings.

Quirrel glances at them, then at Xero. "The Madam did say that the Great Knights were expanding," he admits slowly. "I can only assume that Xero can be counted among the numbers."

" _We believed there were only five,_ " Ghost signs. " _Hegemol, Orgrim, Isma, Dryya, and Ze'mer. Only one of those we have met._ "

"Well, now there's six," Xero sniffs. "At least until the other Knights vet their choices. I got in through word of Dryya. After she kicked me in the face a couple times until I managed to disarm her." He tilts his head to the side, the heavy armor clanking slightly. "And, as I've said, you look very familiar, stranger."

Tiso snorts and immediately shoves his face in his teacup. Ghost glances sideways at him, feeling their mask seal back together as they settle their teacup back onto the table. " _You may have seen our twin,_ " they admit, feeling somewhat awkward. The last time they'd seen them, they had been in the middle of lodging their fist into their father's face. Or, apparently, it was a mask he wore. They hadn't known he wore a mask, not until they'd been picking the shards of porcelain out of their fist down in the Junk Pit. 

Xero stops, stills, and it takes him a long moment to realize he's dripping tea down the front of his armor. He jerks with a muffled curse and sets the teacup down onto the table, free hand coming up to smear at the front of his chest plate.

Markoth reaches a hand out to cover both sides of Marmu's head and sighs out, "You're a fucking idiot," before letting go. He ignores the way Xero is spluttering, both at Ghost's admission and the moth's words, and goes back to conversing with his mother in that same headache-inducing tongue that Tiso can also speak.

" _Yes,_ " Ghost repeats, because apparently that's something they're going to have to do now. " _Hallow is our twin sibling. We are the older of us two. In fact, we are the oldest of all of the siblings that remain._ "

"Oh," Xero breathes, and they can see recognition in his eyes. "You broke his majesty's mandibles! You gave him a concussion _and_ a multitude of injuries!"

Ghost can feel their temper rising and they viciously attempt to squish it down. _You have no idea the crimes he has committed against us!_ they hiss, feeling the void boil upwards in their rage. Xero recoils back, hand darting towards the nail sheathed at his side.

Tiso reaches over a hand, over Quirrel who has winced visibly, and slaps their shoulder. "Telepathy," he complains, and it takes Ghost a moment to realize that their mind has once again slipped past the confines of their mask without their permission. They pull back, mentally and physically, and draw in a slow, deep breath.

" _Apologies_ _. We are still unused to this ability._ "

"We really need to get you to, who did you say, Quirrel? Monomon?"

Quirrel nods slowly, gingerly removing the hand from his head. "Yes. The Madam will do wonders in helping you learn how to use that without giving everyone else in the vicinity a headache." He rubs at his face with a low groan and heaves a sigh. "I know you don't mean to do it, but it still hurts."

They look away and duck their head, feeling guilt run through them. They didn't mean to hurt Quirrel like this, especially knowing how sensitive he is to telepathy and the mental arts.

Tiso slaps their shoulder again. "I can smell the internal guilt from here," he says flatly. "You didn't mean to do it, and that is the point. We'll get you to Monomon soon enough."

If only they actually believed that. Ghost doesn't know if they can believe it. They've really only been good at breaking things.

Flame sinks his teeth into their leg and Ghost yelps loudly, their tail flinging him upwards in a whirl of fluff. "Sibwing bwaming shewf again! No, no, no, no, bad sibwing!" he shrieks, wings splaying outwards, and promptly does his level best to set their mask on fire. Distantly, as they desperately attempt to get Flame under control before he sets any more of Seer's home on fire, they can hear Xero screaming in the background.

(Faintly, in the deepest parts of their mind, they note that he seems to scream easily. And loudly.)


	73. Xero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am sick again chapters may be scattered sorry :)

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

Xero doesn't know how to feel about this.

He really doesn't. Not one bit.

Not when he's sitting in his (ex's? partner's? friend's? he has no idea what he is to Markoth, not anymore) childhood home, next to said moth, and watching as a fire-breathing child proceeds to attempt to set a god aflame.

Said god is _laughing_ , which really isn't helping his nerves. Even if that laughter is nothing more than high pitched chirping, interspersed with sharp wheezes and breathy inhales. Xero would be amused if he wasn't so terrified.

He's only newly promoted, barely a newbie in the Great Knights, freshly recruited by Knight Dryya after she proceeded to shove his mandibles down his throat. She'd laughed at his attempts to fight her, never mind the fact that she'd ordered him to, and had nearly taken his antennae off from the top of his head with a single blow.

Xero _really_ hadn't appreciated that. The first thing he'd ordered when he'd been promoted had been his armor. There was no way he was going to have someone else grab onto them. Being a Hunter bug really wasn't helping, not with how long his antennae are naturally. 

And now, here he is, sitting at the table, hearing himself scream, as brilliant red (tinged with black _oh gods get it away from him it burns_ ) fire curls around the God's face. The God, who is laughing and doing their level best to catch their apparent sibling with their many hands. Their hands, chitin as black as night, claws tipping the ends and little flickers of black substance oozing out between the joints, and yet they're so gentle as their hands close around their sibling's waist. They tuck their sibling onto their lap and pull their cloak closed, reshuffling things within the (endless deep shadowy _oh gods its moving_ ) fabric to bring out two arms that clutch gingerly at a teacup.

_You have been bad_ , he hears faintly in the back of his mind, and almost drops his own cup when the ant reaches over to slap the God's shoulder with a groan of "Telepathy, dammit!" His eyes swing back and forth between them, trying to decide which one he needs to keep within view. The God or the clearly insane acquaintance they seem to have with them.

"You are both _morons_ ," the Scholar huffs, pushing the mask up, and Xero has the horrified sensation that there aren't two of them. There are _three_. And here he is, sitting across the table from them.

Faintly, weakly, absolutely terrified, he wonders if running for the door would be considered rude. Maybe he can fake an emergency or something, because the White Palace and His majesty really should be informed about this situation.

Especially considering that this God has claimed to be the sibling to the prince, the eldest of all of the remaining siblings. And yet, they are out here, with no guards to their name other than a stranger of an ant and a scholar from the Teacher's Archives. If they are even halfway correct in their statements, Xero would be really amiss in not informing his liege of his information. Of course, that does mean he has to be able to leave without being struck down by an angry God.

Xero doesn't know if he'll be able to deal with this God if they're angry. What's most concerning is the lack of weapons on their being, other than the wicked sharp claws that they're currently using to peel apart the layers of a sweet that Seer had placed out. Xero doesn't know if they're doing that on purpose, but he supposes that it doesn't matter. He's definitely very intimidated.

(Why do they have to be so tall? Both the God and their apparent twin tower over him. Xero's not even small for a bug, being only a little bit shorter than Markoth.)

The God is staring at him, all eight of their eyes visibly focused on him. He can feel the weight of their gaze, heavy and endless and full of something that he cannot name. Xero finds himself fighting to not shrink beneath their stare, and he busies himself by ducking his face to sip at the tea. They hum softly, he can hear the note even from across the table (there's a tone to it that he _doesn't understand and it tears at him_ ), and the God reaches out to take another treat.

He sees their mask crack at the bottom, and barely keeps himself from shrieking at the thousands of eyes he can now see staring out from beneath the white bone. Each one blinks slowly at him, their gaze endless and deep, and Gods, but Xero wants to run. He hates this, hates this feeling, but he can't do anything about it.

They stare at him for a long, slow moment, the treat in their hands, and then they take a bite, the mask closing so that he can no longer see the eyes. The weight of their gaze vanishes, instead replaced by something almost like approval, and Xero can't help but feel like he's just passed some unknown test.

His shoulders shake, the armor vibrating faintly beneath his touch, and he breathes in slowly and sips at his tea. The God stares back at him for a moment and pulls out their second set of hands. He gets a glimpse of the child on their lap, curled up asleep around the fluffy bits of a tail, and watches as their hands form signs easily. It takes him a moment, reasonable given that the last time he spoke sign was years ago and he's rather rusty in that department, but at least he can understand a little bit of the asked question.

Then the question actually registers and he feels all the hemolymph drain out of his face, his eyes flickering quickly to the side at the moth's rapidly angering form. Oh gods, why is this his _normal_.

(Markoth would like it known that spitting out his tea and shrieking in nonverbal rage is perfectly acceptable for being asked if he's dating Xero, no matter what his mother may say about the situation.)


	74. Ghost

There is a ghost within the Resting Grounds.

They're deeply amused, now that the screaming has stopped.

The little one, the tiny mothling who they once remember as being so large, is curled up within Markoth's lap.

She's sleeping, snoring softly and evenly. Markoth clearly has no idea what to do with her, and Ghost finds themself trying their level best to not laugh in his face. The moth is already freaked out enough as it is, what with his expression on the verge of 'Send help'. His mother is clearly not helping either, what with the way she's not even attempting to hide her delighted laughter, in between doting on her new granddaughter with snacks and treats.

For a moment, Ghost wishes they'd had someone like that when they were young.

(They consider their parents, still in the palace, with all their siblings safe inside. They consider going back there for a moment, consider returning and seeing if, maybe, they could have something they'd never had before. Then they remember they broke their father's face, broke him into pieces, and turn their face away from that happiness.)

"Mother," Markoth hisses, looking frantically at her. His helmet has been discarded to the side a long time ago, though Xero still has his on, and his wide eyes are locked on the slumbering mothling in his lap. "What do I do with her?"

Ghost blinks at him, then down at Flame asleep on their lap. Their younger brother is tucked up tightly, his wings tucked neatly beneath his head. He's cuddling their tail, the fluffy bit at the end wrapped up within his claws. " _You don't,_ " they sign, bemused, and reach their hands down to pick up their brother. He complains, like they expected he would, and they tuck him against their chest, resting his head on their shoulder.

Markoth glares at them, his glittering eyes narrowing slowly until they're little more than slits. "Excuse me?"

" _You don't,_ " Ghost repeats, immensely thankful that they've got four hands. It makes talking with others and holding their baby brother so much easier. " _You've got a child now. You're welcome._ "

Beside Markoth, Xero snorts. "Can't believe we've got a kid now, Fuzzball."

"I will stab you where you sit," the moth hisses dangerously, a nail flickering into existence for but a moment. Seer reaches over without even the slightest bit of hesitation and slaps his head. Markoth winces and the nail vanishes instantly. Ghost snorts loudly and carefully wraps their cloak around their brother, watching as Flame tucks his face in and lets out a sleepy murmur.

They carefully get to their feet and move around the table until they're kneeling next to Markoth. He glares up at them, clear wariness in his gaze, and they tilt their head to the side. " _Like this,_ " they sign, and reach their arms down to pick Marmu up. She whines softly and her eyes flicker open. Ghost clicks soothingly at her and presses her against Flame, curling them against each other. They use their lower arms to properly position Markoth's own, making sure that it's correct before placing Marmu within them.

Almost instantly, she nuzzles up against Markoth's chest, letting out a soft sigh as she drifts back off to sleep. Markoth breathes in sharply, looking very much like he's been struck in the face. Even Xero has fallen silent, and Ghost catches a glimpse of a similarly stunned expression.

_New parents_ , they think with amusement. There's no way that Markoth and Xero don't have at least something going on between them. They'd eat their own mask if they're wrong. " _Are you sure you're not dating?_ " they sign, watching as Markoth splutters, just barely keeping himself from shrieking, and Xero stills. They don't look at each other, and Tiso snorts with muffled laughter and leans in close.

"Definitely something between them," the ant says and Quirrel snorts from his own position, face buried within a book once more.

"I will stab all of you," Markoth informs them flatly. "You're all dead to me."

Ghost smirks at him, feeling their mask crack into teeth as they make their way back to their original seat. " _You're not strong enough to even try._ "

"Well, yeah," Tiso mutters, "you're a god."

Quirrel sighs heavily and glances up at the doorway. "We should leave soon," he says. "The sooner we head out to the Archives, the sooner we can get Ghost some actual teaching in telepathy. Monomon will be incredibly useful in this endeavor."

"More so than me at least," Tiso admits with a laugh. "I'm a pretty shit teacher, always have been. My sister gave me a lot of shit for it when we were kids and its clear that it hasn't gotten better as I got older." He nervously rubs at the back of his head, tugging the hood up higher over his face. "How long even is the trip to the Archives, anyway?"

Seer hums. "If you take the Stag Station, not long at all. Queen's Station is incredibly close to the Archives, but I can assume that you're not interested in it."

"No," Tiso immediately snaps. "I hate closed in spaces, and those tunnels are the actual worst."

That's fair, Ghost reasons. They're not a fan of closed spaces either. Not after everything they saw within the temple, not after Deepnest, not after the waterways. They much rather have a large room with lots of open space above them, and space to stretch out. The stags are all well and good, but sometimes they'd very much rather not. " _That's fine, we can head out through the City of Tears if need be._ "

Quirrel hums lazily and gets to his feet. "Since we'll be avoiding the stags, no matter how useful they are, we have two choices. There's the tram from Resting Grounds to Crossroads, which would mostly be empty, and from there we can head down to the Fungal Wastes. Or, we can take the elevator into the city and walk out into the Wastes that way." He shrugs vaguely and glances at Tiso. "It's your choice, friend."

Ghost nods happily. " _The city would be easier, what with the path being direct._ " They shift nervously when Quirrel levels them with a slow stare and then splutter in embarrassment. " _All right, so maybe it's the path we know._ "

Seer hums. "Your path will be easy, though you will meet someone a long time coming." She smirks a little and it makes Ghost nervous. "Do try to not run from this one, Godling."

"That's not ominous at all," Tiso mutters as he follows Quirrel out of the house, and Ghost can't help but agree.


	75. Ghost

There is a ghost within the very edge of the Resting Grounds.

This ghost is doing their best to not wake their brother.

The stag thundering into the station above them as they make their way down is not helping. Clearly Xero must be heading out now that the entertainment has taken its leave. Ghost is pretty sure that he's going to report to their father anyway, so its not very surprising that a stag is arriving at that precise moment.

(They pretend they hadn't seen the way his gaze lingered on Markoth as they left. They are the god of Dreams, not Love.)

"So," Tiso says as they pass down into the lower levels of the Resting Grounds. "How are we getting into Fungal Wastes? Because I am not keen on taking the Waterways, if you must know."

That's entirely fair, Ghost reasons as they tuck Flame tighter against their chest. He's purring faintly in his sleep, occasionally whiffing a faint flicker of fire from his mouth. Their tail shifts slightly from side to side, swaying with every motion of their walk. " _We would prefer to not go through the Waterways either, if we are being entirely honest. Once was bad enough._ "

Both Tiso and Quirrel turn to stare at them. "Since when have you been in the Waterways?" Quirrel asks, sounding completely bewildered. It's a totally reasonable question, even if the answer is a little embarrassing.

" _The void within the Abyss connects to the void within the_ Junkpit," they respond slowly. " _At the time, the door to the Abyss was still locked, so we. . . improvised. The Junkpits lead through the Waterways to get into the city above. Yes, it was as uncomfortable as you_ _think_."

At that, Tiso snorts loudly. He lazily threads his hands behind his head, looking for all the world like a simple traveler with only a shield. Quirrel's nail hangs at their side, and Ghost knows that their own massive one is pressed against their back. Out of the three of them, Quirrel is the easiest pickings and the Scholar clearly knows it. He doesn't have the graceful glide of a long-trained warrior, even if he does have the reluctant skill with a nail. Tiso, for all his attempts to look like a simple traveler, is far too sharp-eyed, and his hand hangs in just the right position to easily whip out the shield.

Ghost is more than a little amused, though they do not deny that they keep their own soul close, ready at a moments notice to release a spell. They glance around lazily and settle for rubbing their brother's back as he sleeps, taking comfort in the abundant warmth of his shell. Voidling he may be, but he still has his father's wonderful warmth. They remember curling up to Grimm all that time ago, listening as he spoke of stories of old and tales of kingdoms long dead. At the time, Hallownest had counted among that number. Now it breathes and lives and even goes as far as thriving. 

"Elevator," Tiso tells them as he walks inside, easily leaping over the gap. Ghost follows him in, ducking their head so their horns don't catch on the edge, and listens as Quirrel steps in as well.

(They have the oddest sensation that they're forgetting something.)

_NAILSMITH!_ they exclaim eventually, the elevator only halfway down into the edge of the city. _WE FORGOT NAILSMITH._

Tiso groans loudly, reaching out to slap their shoulder. "First of all, telepathy. Second of all, what do you mean you 'forgot' about Nailsmith."

" _Sorry,_ " they sign, rather sheepish. In that moment they had completely forgotten about their inability to control their mindspeak. " _We originally came to him to arm our younger siblings with nails so that they may keep themselves safe as they explored the kingdom. We completely forgot about that_ _order_." They shrug a little, glancing around the area as the elevator comes to a halt. " _We should pick it up before we go through the Wastes._ "

Quirrel hums, reaching a hand up to rub at his mandibles beneath his mask. "It's not going to be a lot of things to carry, is it?"

" _Only about a dozen nails or so,_ " they tell him lazily, huffing a laugh as he practically trips getting out of the elevator.

"A dozen?" he squeaks, and even Tiso stares at them for a moment. "I can't carry a dozen nails!"

They roll their eyes, not even attempting to hide the motion. " _Our void allows us to carry many things. Thirteen nails aren't going to be much of a hindrance, so you can stop your complaining._ " Ghost laughs at them as they splutter loudly and gracefully steps out of the elevator and into the pouring rain. Ah, they think, immediately transforming their cloak to include a deep hood and pull it up. 

"I hate the both of you," Quirrel mutters as he readjusts his bandanna in an attempt to keep the water out. "I hate you so much."

"Should have worn a hood," Tiso tells him with a smirk, and Ghost barely keeps themself from howling in laughter when Quirrel shoves Tiso into the nearest puddle and attempts to drown him.

" _Nailsmith,_ " they remind lazily, stepping gracefully out of the way of their flailing as the duo attempts to get to their feet. " _If you get Flame wet and wake him up, we will not rescue you from his wrath. And we cannot guarantee that he will only set you on fire, not when he has a bad tendency to bite people._ "

That gets them to stop, and Ghost side-eyes the two he's come to care for unconditionally. " _Where to, Scholar?_ " they ask, amusement radiating from their entire form.

"Not you too," Quirrel moans. He stumbles when Tiso slaps his back, almost collapsing face first into the puddle once again. "Tiso, hit me one more time and I'm going to feed you your own organs."

Tiso smirks at them, his teeth gleaming in the darkness of his hood. "Oh, look, you've gained an actual shell."

"Drown you," Quirrel repeats flatly, making a motion with his hands that Ghost doesn't understand. Tiso seems to, because he howls with laughter, only stopping when the pillbug kicks him face down into the puddle. "Hate," he hisses, and stalks towards the path leading downwards. "I hate you all."

Ghost doesn't believe that for a second. Not when they can see the way he's hiding a smile. But Tiso has scrambled to his feet and is darting after Quirrel, calling his name.

(They have half a mind to set the duo loose in the palace. It might just prove to be entertaining.)


	76. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter lmao, my birthday was saturday and i got distracted by community day in Go. got me an entire hoard of shiny fletchling plus their shiny dad

There is a ghost within the City of Tears.

This ghost is very tired of being rained upon.

Their tail is soaked, the fluff at the end matted with the slick water dripping down the stone paths. Their cloak is practically a tiny waterfall of liquid, the black void turned almost translucent blue from rain. Flame has long since buried himself within their cloak, hiding his face against their chest where they're still dry. Quirrel's hood has long since been soaked through, water pooling at the base of his mask and spilling over the knot underneath his chin, and even Tiso is looking miserable.

Ghost is suddenly incredibly thankful that their void cloak is completely waterproof.

"How much fucking farther is it?" Tiso hisses, visibly bristling in a way that shakes water off of his form. "Because I'm going to burn this whole place to the ground if it's much longer."

Quirrel hums lazily and in a way that Ghost knows he's going to manage to piss Tiso off. Again. "Pretty sure you can't burn a constantly raining city," he points out, unflinchingly reasonable. Tiso lets out a noise akin to Seer's boiling kettle and lunges forward, sending the two of them tumbling down into another puddle.

" _You're both idiots,_ " Ghost tells them, then reaches down and hauls them up, one in each hand, and drops them onto their feet. Flame peeks out over the top of their cloak, keeping his face pressed up beneath their chin in an attempt to keep his face out of the rain.

"Idiothsh," Flame cheerfully repeats, spitting out a tiny burst of fire that quickly sizzles out in the rain. "Buth you wiwe thhem."

Ghost considers dropping him.

**No, we don't** **,** they think, frowning down at him as best they can.

"Wiar, you do," Flame singsongs, and Ghost actually does drop him this time. He screeches at them in annoyance, his wings flaring out to catch him before he goes very far, and they can easily see how disgruntled he is now that he's soaked by the rain.

"That was cold," Tiso comments, carefully picking his way over to their side. He seems more amused than anything else and Ghost levels him with a flat stare.

" _Tease us at your own risk,_ " they inform him and he cackles loudly, reaching up to wipe his face free of the rain. " _We should head to the Nailsmith before we drown. Or,_ " they amend, glancing over at the way Flame is now pretending to die horribly midair, " _our brother gives the city guards a reason to detain us._ " They narrow their gaze and flick their cloak at Flame, splashing him with a small waterfall of liquid. " _Keep that up and we won't buy you those kebabs you like._ "

Flame jerks upright and immediately lands on their shoulder, pouting up at them with huge, teary red eyes. "Sibwing," he whines and gives a pathetic sniffle. _**Flame loves sibling very, very much.**_

_**You just want us to feed you.** _

_**Flame won't deny** **it,**_ he mutters, ducking his head in embarrassment, and they glance down at him. Apparently he's picked up their habit of speaking in third person. They could probably do something about it, but the idea of Grimm being incredibly disgruntled about his child's speech patterns is too good of an idea to pass up.

"So which way?" Tiso asks them, and Ghost blinks as they're dragged out of their conversation with Flame. They glance around, peering at the buildings surrounding them, and try to remember where they were. Despite having been here before, the city really is different with so many people. It's no longer half broken and filled with not-rotting corpses patrolling its depths. Ghost hums and turns to their left, catching sight of the sign that marks the path towards the Nailsmith's home.

" _Perhaps that way?_ " they muse as they head towards the opening, ignoring the way Quirrel is now laughing at Tiso behind them.

"You're both dead to me," Tiso mutters, but they can hear the amusement in his voice. He jogs forward until he's in pace alongside them, peering up into the depths of their hood. "So it's just straight out that way?"

" _Yes,_ " Ghost tells him with a slight smirk. " _Making it up to the house, however, is going to be a bit of a challenge._ "

Tiso frowns at them, reaching a hand up beneath his hood to rearrange the sopping fabric. "Let me guess. We have to fly up there."

Quirrel snorts as he catches up, both him and the ant having to jog to keep up with Ghost's long stride. "I'm pretty sure that's how he keeps out most of the idiot nobles who get it in their head that they absolutely _must_ have that shiny new blade they saw a guard carrying. The last time that happened, the noble got into a fight and stabbed their opponent. Pretty sure the Nailsmith moved to this location two days later."

That's terrible, Ghost thinks but doesn't say. They'd known that the nobles in the city were foolish, but this was a whole new level.

(Then they remember the way that the nobles had thrown themselves at him while infected, swiping and scrabbling and doing their level best to kill him. How much of that had been Radiance's influence and how much of that had been their own arrogance?)

They saunter across the bridge connecting the edge of the city to where Nailsmith resides, peering through the low hanging fog. It's low enough that it's difficult to see, and Ghost blinks slowly as they realize that night will soon be falling. They'll have to find a spot to rest soon, if only because they don't particularly want to pick their way through the Fungal Wastes while it's dark. 

Ghost heaves a sigh and glances up slightly, blinking the liquid that's tumbling down out of their eyes. They turn to peer at Tiso and Quirrel, taking note of the way they're starting to flag. Tiso is doing a far better job of hiding it than Quirrel is, and they find themself frowning beneath the bone mask. They're a god, a vessel, void compressed into darkness and shadow. They do not tire the same way mortals do. But what kind of traveling companion would they be if they forced the two to continue despite being on the verge of exhaustion? Not a very good one.

_Tiso. Quirrel_ , they push, letting Tiso slap their shoulder in the familiar admonishment of their terrible telepathy skills. " _Is there a good place to sleep within the city? We have geo to pay for the_ night."

"If you're asking about Inns, yes there is one. Why do you ask?"

" _We do not know if you two have noticed, but it is getting late. Nailsmith will be quick and then you two should get some rest._ "

"Not including yourself?"

Ghost shrugs. " _We are a god within a false body made of void. We do not tire, do not sleep, do not eat. We do it because it pleases us, not because we require it._ " They tilt their head to the side and consider the path up to Nailsmith's house, hearing the faint clink of metal on metal that grows louder as they draw closer. " _Food is a pleasure that we enjoy and now that we are no longer in a long dead kingdom that is crumbling apart, we find ourself indulging in that pleasure._ "

"That's entirely fair," Quirrel admits as he leaps up onto the ledge. He hums loudly and then flicker's out of Ghost's sight, appearing up by Nailsmith's home. They leap up to join him, their wings flaring open and easily pushing their jump height up enough to clear the edge. Ghost turns their head, easily moving aside as Tiso flies upward and lands with a curse.

"I hate rain," he mutters. "I hate it so much. It's cold, it's wet, and it gets everywhere."

"And yet you still came with us," Quirrel retorts, and Ghost tunes them out as they stare up at the house. They slowly breathe in and then push open the door. They have nails to collect, hopefully without starting an incident. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ya can either yell at me here or over on tumblr [@skye-kingsbury](https://skye-kingsbury.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Fanart!  
> Ghostdoze: [Here](https://i.imgur.com/NLGQX06.jpg)  
> Tokyo: [Here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/638052696702713856/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/637516018818973696/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/637021631403982848/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/636384428352061440/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/636193281111392256/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/635902678941270016/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/635810143964119041/), [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/638361285105434624/) and [here](https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/639157383015399424/the-moon-will-sing-a-song-for-me-i-loved-you-like)!  
> Maiden: [Here](https://maiden-arts.tumblr.com/post/636901841004888064/) and [here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/435829317679841282/786773329859444766/Untitled98_20201210175427.png)  
> Jaakisaur: [Here](https://jaakisaur.tumblr.com/post/636338728622751745/)  
> Sidotherobot: [Here](https://sidotherobot.tumblr.com/post/637682037868871680/)  
> And the lovely person who sent me this (please confirm, i literally can't find your name in my inbox and i want to credit you): [Here!](https://imgur.com/a/TvcSh1m)  
> AelysLuna: [here](https://www.deviantart.com/aelis-lumediluna/art/Ghost-866202431)!


End file.
